You Won't Get Your Way in the End
by xphile.1
Summary: Taking LadyNobleSong's lead (with permission!) on the pairing of Myrtle Snow / Fiona Goode. While this story will have a lot of angst-ridden interaction with the two, with semi-graphic femslash it will actually have a plot/storyline now! Fiona persuades Myrtle to become her ally despite their tumultuous relationship. Eventually, they uncover a plot to destroy the coven.
1. 1972 - part 1

**Disclaimer: First and foremost, ALL credit for the spark that brought us to this explosive work can be given to the very lovely LadyNobleSong, who is truly my muse (and extremely wonderful) for creating the first pairing of Myrtle Snow and Fiona Goode in her excellent contribution to the site, "You and I, We're Burning Slow." This is a slight spin-off, and obviously AU from the show. Secondly, I intend to make no profit from this work and mean no infringement upon the show; just borrowing the characters for a bit. Also, my writing style is a little weird and this is the first time I've written this type of genre. Don't hate.**

_"I, I can't get these memories out of my mind,_  
_And some kind of madness has started to evolve._  
_And I, I tried so hard to let you go,_  
_But some kind of madness is swallowing me whole, yeah_" - 'Madness' by Muse

**1972 - part 1  
**

The sweltering Louisiana summer heat rested like a heavy blanket on Myrtle Snow's chest as she stared up at the ceiling, the thin bed sheets were clutched in both hands resting above her waist. Her signature glasses were on her small nightstand beside her bed, but she didn't need to see in the moonlit room. The images she saw were in her mind and included a certain blonde. Fiona Goode.

Yes, Fiona Goode, the young woman who had all but consumed her every damned waking moment, and hell, even her dreams (or nightmares). Had it been last year her thoughts would have been full of jealousy and borderline hatred, now it was…different. Myrtle couldn't quite label her thoughts and had tried to rationalize what had happened between her and Fiona after she was elected Supreme. It had been several months of trying to forget the kiss they shared. Schoolwork and chores had monopolized Myrtle's time, and she tried to stay focused and stay as far away from Fiona as she could. It was a slight challenge, and Myrtle was grateful for the few vacations Fiona took so that she could simply pretend she did not exist. Even the whole mishap with Spalding and trying to coax the truth from him had been put on the back burner. She still held a distrust of Fiona, but now mixed with those feelings was pure desire.

That kiss. It always clawed and latched onto Myrtle's mind's eye and refused to go away easily. It stirred feelings inside that she never confronted before and threatened to loosen her resolve that she was finally home in a safe place in the coven. Guardian of the truth, indeed. Her own truth. Instead of being able to channel her anger and frustration into hating Fiona, she had to deal with the twisted attraction she felt toward the conniving brat. It had crossed her mind plenty of times that Fiona had conjured some sort of coercion on her, but it perplexed her as to why that would be if she only meant for it to be a kiss and then virtually ignored her for half of a year?

As if on cue, a creak in the floorboards sounded just outside Myrtle's door. Hearing creaks and other house-settling noises was nothing new in the building given its age so she continued to stare upward, unfazed.

Then her door creaked open.

"Psst, fire crotch…you awake?" A sorry attempt at being quiet and the sound of liquid sloshing in a glass earned Myrtle's attention as she reached for her glasses to put them on.

The lack of manners when entering someone else's room. The crass nickname. The faint stench of bourbon burning her nose. It was Fiona.

Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out as a pained sigh of annoyance, Myrtle sat up as the petite blonde plunked her frame onto the foot of the bed after taking a few stumbling steps in her heels. The glass tumbler in Fiona's hand held liquid that nearly spilled over the edge onto Myrtle's bed which she eyed warily.

"I'm shocked. You're actually home early. Run out of men to sleep with? Maybe you should move to Alabama and start on their population." Tired, but not lacking in wit, Myrtle drew her knees up so she could link her arms around her long legs.

Chuckling and giving a toss of her silky blonde hair, Fiona managed to take a careful sip of her drink. "Don't be so jealous, Myrtle. Just because you want to grow cobwebs between your legs doesn't mean we all need to be goddamn nuns, too." She threw a slight half-glare in the redhead's direction as she crossed one thin leg over the other, causing her short black dress to creep up her thighs.

The movement was not unnoticed by Myrtle. She quickly averted her eyes, swallowed hard, and straightened her back. "What is it, Fiona? It's the middle of the night."

"It's not like you were sleeping anyway," Fiona slurred her words as she squirmed on the bed to kick her black heels off, letting them clunk onto the floor. Taking another hearty swig from her glass, she then set onto the task of crawling unsteadily toward Myrtle, her arm brushing against her as she set her glass noisily on the small table.

"I was about to fall asleep and then your drunk ass came barging in here." Myrtle hissed as Fiona's bony knee came to rest on her toes for a brief moment.

"Gee, first my sex life, now my ass…you sure do have a lot of pent up…frustration, Myrt." Fiona breathed the words in a raspy voice against Myrtle's cheek, still on her hands and knees and nearly on top of her. She seemed to be breathing in the scent of her red hair, fingertips coming up to brush through the soft, still damp, wavy tresses. Fiona twirled a few strands around her fingers. "You know…I could take care of your frustration…make it disappear…"

"Great. Does that mean you're leaving?" Thankfully, Myrtle's folded legs drawn up against her chest provided a safeguard from Fiona climbing onto her lap. She tilted her head as if trying to sway her hair from Fiona's grasp.

"Leave you alone? Why? Were you about to play with yourself to get rid of that frustration?" Fiona swiftly removed Myrtle's glasses and dunked them into her glass tumbler that still held the remnants of her drink. "Oopsy…"

Myrtle grit her teeth together, primarily due to the current state of her favorite glasses, but also because of the predicament she was now in with this hellacious woman. Evidently it was not enough that she spent almost half a year trying to ignore this power hungry bitch that consumed her mind more often than she would like to admit. It was a cosmic farce that the vixen was on her bed obviously trying to get something from Myrtle, but what that something was remained a mystery to her.

Grabbing the blonde's arm firmly just above her wrist, Myrtle attempted to keep Fiona's gaze level with her own. "What do you want from me, Fiona Goode?" Her voice was low and determined.

Fiona's head lolled to the side as she smirked, that thing she did when flirting with the numerous men she would drag back to her room in the middle of the night. Her fingers dangled in Myrtle's grasp, trying to brush against the back of the woman's hand, effectively tickling her skin. "Darlin'…your secret is safe with me. No one will ever suspect a thing…they all think we hate each other since you despise me being the Supreme. We're mortal enemies or some shit like that." Her other arm flailed up semi-dramatically as if to punctuate her words.

Still skeptical, Myrtle felt her resolve fading the longer she let Fiona stay in such close vicinity. Her voice almost cracked as she spoke quietly, afraid that someone may overhear them. "What secret? What the hell are you talking about?"

"For fuck's sake, Myrt…you date the most flamboyant ass guys that love theater and still suckle from their mother's tit. You spend all your time doing homework, and…you love cats. And not just the kind that meow and have four legs."

Fiona leaned back into a kneeling position while pulling her arm free of Myrtle's grasp, and nearly toppled off of the bed. Quick to react, Myrtle grabbed the blonde's hand firmly to ensure she wouldn't end up on the floor and thus have to explain to the headmistress what all of the ruckus was in the middle of the night. Not wanting to prove her right, she released Fiona as soon as she seemed balanced again.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Fiona. Have another drink." By some miracle, Myrtle was able to keep her cool façade as she stretched her legs out under the bedsheets languidly. Part of keeping her cool was focusing on how angry she was about her glasses. That bitch definitely owed her a pair if they were ruined. She cast a sidelong glance at her table.

"Hmm, that's the best damn idea you've ever had. Oh, and don't think I'm letting you off the hook _that_ easily, m'dear. You truly should rethink your 'guardian of truth' bullshit." Fiona stared at Myrtle with an unmistakably predatory gaze as she reached for the glass again, yanking the sheets off of her legs in the process. She took Myrtle's glasses out of the tumbler and ran her tongue along the lens to lap the liquid droplets. Her lips wrapped around the edge of the frames then pursed to suck on them ardently.

While Myrtle was distracted with this ruse, Fiona calmly tipped the rest of the glass' contents straight onto Myrtle's lap, a few small ice cubes clinking together at the junction of her thighs. "Hmm, I really need to learn how to hold my liquor better," her voice dropped a few octaves.

As Myrtle jerked back, startled by the coldness between her legs from the liquid that seeped through her thin nightgown, Fiona's head dipped down swiftly. She hovered over the ice cubes, forcing a breath of hot air directly over Myrtle's center.

"What the hel-…" Myrtle ceased talking as Fiona slipped her mouth over one of the ice cubes, rolling it around with her tongue against the redhead's mound. If the last six months had been hell, Myrtle was certain this would be even more of an apocalypse to get over. Naïvely allowing her body's immediate reactions to take over, Myrtle slipped both hands into Fiona's hair, even though her brain was screaming at her, shrieking even. What on earth was she thinking? Allowing this bitch to tantalize her once again? Her head fell back as Fiona pressed the melting cube against her harder, using the strength of her tongue to force it into her slit through her nightgown.

"F-f-uck…Fiona," she managed to mutter almost inaudibly as she allowed her legs to part further. She clutched the sheets and arched her back, pushing her pelvis toward Fiona's sizzling mouth.

Seeming to be encouraged by this, Fiona let the forgotten glass and glasses rest on the bed beside them and took a hold of Myrtle's thighs, fingertips digging into her flesh as her nightgown slid up. The first cube had melted, but she still had two more that rested in a small pool of watered down bourbon. _Hell, one more wouldn't hurt_, she thought. Using her tongue to guide the cube to the middle of Myrtle's center again, she worked it against her even more roughly than the first time, making sure to rub it over the area of the tiny sensitive bundle of nerves.

Her breathing ragged and sharp, Myrtle rolled her hips a few times, keeping Fiona's head in place with both hands.

The true bitch witch that she was, Fiona finished the second ice cube and stopped abruptly, leaving Myrtle just on the edge. Lifting her head and kneeling up again, she stared at Myrtle's flushed face, watching her try to catch her breath. A smirk played on her lips as she saw how flustered she was, and how pissed off she was that Fiona had stopped what she was doing. Fingertips pressed on the ice cube on Myrtle's lap, Fiona nudged it against her swollen mound teasingly. Her voice dropped low as she leaned toward the redhead. "You stay out of my way, Myrtle Snow, keep your pretty little mouth shut, and then no one will find out about your little secret. Now…it's your turn."

It wasn't a question. It was a command. She picked the cube up from Myrtle's soaked lap and held it out to her.


	2. 1972 - part 2

**_AN: _****A little shorter than anticipated and a little fluffy toward the end, but it'll get back to normal soon.**

_"And now I have finally seen the light  
And I have finally realized what you need" - 'Madness' by Muse_

**1972 - part 2**

Myrtle shot Fiona a fiery glare in the brightly moonlit bedroom, her chest about to burst with anger. She _knew_ it, just goddamn knew it. Fiona never gave of herself; she _always_ took. She always got what she wanted. This seemed to be a losing battle for Myrtle as she was finding it difficult to say no to her. The threat to her deepest truth that she could barely admit to herself made her give a moment's pause to Fiona's icy warning.

Holding her palm above Fiona's outstretched hand and not quite touching the ice cube, Myrtle titled her head to the side, her auburn locks now framing her face much like a roaring fire. "What if I don't care, Fiona? What if I don't give one damned shit about what you'll tell everyone? It's not like I would be able to trust you either way, not after what happened to Anna-Leigh and Spalding. You're a danger to this very coven, and you _don't _deserve to be the Supreme. I'm not afraid of you, and I never will be."

The blasphemous words rolled off of Myrtle's tongue as she stared pointedly at the blonde who was still kneeling in front of her. The relaxed, albeit drunken, intimidating demeanor Fiona had embodied throughout this whole encounter had shifted to one of bristled irritation. Myrtle waited, her whole body tensed and ready for Fiona's retaliation, fully anticipating to be thrown against the wall, or for a knife to be produced against her throat, or maybe even to have her bed set on fire. Quite peculiarly, none of that happened. She was caught off guard by the blonde's shoulders starting to shake as she laughed. It wasn't a friendly laugh, but one of wickedness and arrogance.

"Oh, Myrtle Snow. .._please_, keep playing hard to get. I so enjoy this little game." The laughter continued for another moment as Fiona climbed onto her lap, straddling the passive woman who gave no indication of moving. She placed the ice cube against the Myrtle's mouth, and leaned forward. "I am offering you a chance to help save this coven, you stupid bitch," she rasped against her cheek. Scooting closer on Myrtle's lap so their hipbones were crushed together, she breathed into her ear heatedly, pushing her nose into her soft red hair. Myrtle closed her eyes, her breathing now becoming shallow, as she placed her hands timidly on the woman's waist.

Fiona continued speaking in a low voice, and gave a lone teasing nudge of her hips against Myrtle's hips. "I need you, Myrt." She rolled her hips again, moaning quietly and took brief pause before continuing her explanation. "I've always known you weren't afraid of me, and that's why this works so perfectly. We keep showing the world that we hate each other. You'll stop trying to fuck up my life by dragging my name in the dirt and trying to take away what means most to me, and I'll make sure that you'll never be alone." The last sentence was punctuated with Fiona slipping the ice cube past Myrtle's now numb lips. She let her fingertips linger, tracing the cool flesh as her other hand lifted to rest on the redhead's shoulder.

The small cube crunched between her teeth as she chewed the remains, and Myrtle somehow restrained herself from biting Fiona's fingertips. It was a painful awareness, feeling Fiona's light frame on her lap and so close to such a sensitive swollen part of her body, but she had to stand her ground. Two could play this game, didn't Fiona realize this? Using both hands, Myrtle's slender fingers skimmed over Fiona's bare thighs and disappeared beneath the hem of her black dress. She traced circles against her flesh, slowly inching toward her inner thigh. Angling her head, she brushed her nose against Fiona's neck. "And just how the hell would _you_ of all people…help this coven, Fiona? The last time I checked, spreading your legs was not one of the Seven Wonders."

With a hoarse chuckle, Fiona tossed her head back and pulled away slightly to look at her companion. She smoothed her palms over the woman's feathery hair and then placed her hands on each of her shoulders to toy with the thin straps of Myrtle's nightgown. "Don't you pay attention? We're becoming extinct. The academy's funds are drying out faster than your twat. Anna-Leigh with her hippie shit mindset wasn't doing a goddamn thing to stop the bleeding. Sure, we have powers, some of us more than others, but we need…money. Money leads to more power so we can sustain these bloodlines. I'm the only one who sees this, and I know exactly how to fix it." Her gaze lowered and she slowly began to pull the straps down Myrtle's shoulders so that the front of her nightgown was barely covering her breasts. "You, my pet, keep the council off my back by pretending to handle the pointless inquiry of that worthless hag's death yourself, and I'll make sure this coven stays intact and fully funded." Fiona slid a palm over one of Myrtle's breasts, smirking as the action had the desired effect of a pert nipple poking against the thin fabric.

Trying to channel the strength to disregard her body's reaction to Fiona's touch, Myrtle scowled at the confession. "So you did kill her…"

"That's not the point of this conversation, Myrtle. What's done is done. We must focus on the coven…on ourselves. We can't worry about this petty shit. Anna-Leigh was dying, and it was my time to take over. I'm not so clueless to realize that this is too big to take on by myself, though. And I'm sure it gets you wet knowing that you're a major factor in this scheme."

"You're a sick woman, Fiona."

"I don't see you trying very hard to get away from me." As if to emphasize her point, Fiona pushed her hips down into Myrtle again, with that damned smirk on her face.

As much as she hated to admit it, Fiona had a damned good point about the funding. Without it, the school would no longer be able to stay open and take in new students. They needed a new benefactor and soon. The safety of their kind depended on it. Myrtle truly believed in the benefits of Miss Robichaux's Academy; the education and general life skills they learned there in addition to the sharpening of their individual powers was critical to their longevity. Many years ago there was even a sense of solidarity and sisterhood. Without this shelter to protect them, they would be left to the world's plans, which was not always in their favor.

Ignoring the taut skin under her nightgown begging to be caressed again, Myrtle cleared her throat, wishing her glasses were clean. It seemed to be an appropriate time to adjust the frames. "So what's your plan? I sincerely doubt you're going to join the working force to hand over your paycheck to the academy. Although, I always thought you'd fancy a whore house as your calling."

Chuckling at the comment, Fiona began to knead Myrtle's exposed shoulders. "I'm not surprised that you'd think of me that way, you twisted girl. But no, I'm not getting a _job_," she spit the word out as if it were spoiled milk.

By now the alcohol coursing through Fiona's body had waned considerably, but she was the type of person that functioned on alcohol the way others functioned with coffee. She was not a sloppy drunk by any means, at least not tonight. She needed Myrtle to take her as seriously as possible, and knew the balance of alcohol she could allow herself that evening. Still, her body craved the burn of whiskey and the buzz it gave her to get through her daily life. Continuing again, the smirk on her lips grew. "I'm going to find some rich old bastard and wait for him to croak. It's the same thing women have done for decades, so it shouldn't be too difficult or suspicious. If I have to, I can always bat my eyelashes." With a little lift of her shoulders, she stopped her massage of Myrtle's shoulders and gave them a solid shake. "So? Are you in? Or do I get to tell everyone about your pussy cat addiction?"

Who was she to deny her assistance to the Supreme? Especially when her plan actually made some sense? It didn't seem as though she had to sell her soul to Fiona, or commit any type of crime, and that, she would make damn sure never happened. Myrtle still had her limits. Fiona may push those limits, but Myrtle was not one to bend easily. Tough shit for Fiona if she thought she would get her way for all of this, though.

The redhead gave a brisk nod of her head. Leaning forward caused her nightgown to slip further down her chest, uncovering both breasts, and she trailed her fingers along Fiona's inner thighs gingerly. "You finish what you started earlier, Fiona Goode, and I'm all yours."

Letting out a sigh of relief and pleasure as Myrtle's fingertips drifted dangerously closer to her center, Fiona grinned. This would be a small price to pay for her master plan to be put in motion. She moved her hands from Myrtle's shoulders to cup her breasts and pushed her backward until her head hit the pillows. "Oh, I'll finish you alright…you'll be begging for more, doll."

The glass tumbler and Myrtle's glasses clattered to the floor as Fiona shifted on the bed to remove her dress. Her dark laughter returned as glass exploded on the wooden floor. The room was then silent for several minutes with the exception of creaking from the bed and hushed moans from both of the young women. True to Fiona's word, Myrtle was soon begging her for the final push toward rapture. This time, Fiona obliged, sealing their contract with another heated kiss to match the fervor of the first one they shared many months ago. Afterward, they held each other's gaze, sated and trying to catch their breath. Fiona smoothed Myrtle's hair, and then dropped her head to rest her cheek on the soft locks. "I knew you'd beg. Kinky bitch," she whispered with a smirk on her lips.

Too tired to respond this time, Myrtle rolled her eyes, letting her forehead rest against the blonde's head as she waited for sleep to claim her body. Whether Fiona would stay the whole night she wasn't sure, and she didn't have the heart to ask. In a warped perverse way, she knew Fiona was using her, but by some token Myrtle was doing the same. Soon the muggy Louisiana air swept her away to sleep, and the last thing she felt were Fiona's lips pressing against her cheek lightly.


	3. 1972 - part 3

_"And now I need to know is this real love,  
Or is it just madness keeping us afloat?" - 'Madness' by Muse_

**1972 - part 3**

The next day Myrtle awoke to find Fiona absent from her room, the only telltale sign of her being there was the glass shards on her bedroom floor along with her glasses. The thin sheet was draped across her pale nude form, but it wasn't enough to make her feel covered. Stepping out of the bed on the opposite side of the glass, Myrtle reached for her navy robe with contrasting red print. She wrapped herself in it, wishing it were that easy to hide from the world.

Today the council was to reconvene after postponing the meeting several months ago, and Myrtle still didn't know what she was going to do. She now had reason to believe Fiona certainly killed Anna-Leigh but at the same time outing this belief could lead the coven down the path of destruction. Her aspiration to protect her kind was limitless, and siding with the new Supreme would surely play in her favor. All she had to do was make sure Fiona was seen as an innocent. How hard could it be? She scoffed silently, recognizing the ridiculousness of that concept.

After taking another shower to cleanse her body from the prior night, Myrtle made her way to the dining area where the other girls had gathered. She was careful not to make eye contact with Fiona, but could feel the girl's eyes on her as she took her usual place at the table. Unusually quiet, she simply nodded at the girl she normally spoke with and gave her a brief smile. The table was lively with chatter, but Fiona and Myrtle did not partake in the conversations. Myrtle finally elected to look at Fiona, and was met with an all-knowing smirk as she slipped her spoon in and out of her mouth a few times, letting her tongue linger for a moment longer than necessary. Perspiration built on her back and Myrtle shifted in her seat uncomfortably, glancing around the table to see if anyone had noticed. The girls were too busy discussing the upcoming schedule for the day.

Jumping slightly as a plate full of food was set in front of her; Myrtle adjusted her glasses and nodded her thanks to Spalding. Sometimes she envied the safety net he had of not being able to speak. There were no expectations that way, and no one would question why no words passed his lips. Her skin crawled as she thought of the night of the accident, not knowing why Fiona simply cut his tongue out and furthermore why Spalding stayed on to help the academy. Wouldn't he be afraid to be around her after that? Myrtle watched as the other girls were served their breakfast, and avoided looking at Fiona again. She struggled with eating and only took a few bites. Soon, she would be called to speak with the council to discuss the concerns she had brought to them. She excused herself from the table and started toward the hallway, hearing the unmistakable voice of Fiona telling the girls that Myrtle was probably turning anorexic. There was light laughter from some of the girls. Momentarily closing her eyes at the snide comment, and hoping it was not sincere, she stormed up to her room to wait until the meeting.

* * *

Glad that the inquisition was not as bad as she had thought, Myrtle laid in bed once again, staring at the ceiling. She had explained to the council that she no longer felt Fiona was a possible suspect for Spalding's disfigurement. Borrowing from her earlier thoughts, she presented the argument that if she truly had done it to him, why would he still want to work at the academy? To further embellish the story, she recounted how Spalding never seemed quite "right" in his mind, often staring off in the distance and moving slowly at times. The council members presented further questions to ensure that Myrtle was being honest, and then declared the matter closed. Following the meeting, she skipped out on her studies and went for a walk throughout the neighborhood. It was her way of avoiding Fiona primarily, but also to help clear her head after a stressful morning.

Hearing the floorboards creak, she swore silently, fully anticipating the arrival of Fiona who she could smell well before she entered the room. "Are you ever sober?" she hissed quietly as the blonde toed her heels off at the door and then crawled onto the bed next to her, propping herself up on an elbow.

"Shh," Fiona said quietly, pushing her index finger to Myrtle's lips. "It's a celebration. You should have come with me. I would have even shared a few phone numbers with you." She chuckled, stroking her fingers through Myrtle's hair, fanning it out on the pillow. "Some of them may be husband material, we'll see. How'd the meeting go?" Not one to waste time, she got right to the point for her visit; wanting to ensure she was in the clear.

A sigh escaped Myrtle as she brought two fingers to rub the bridge of her nose, her eyes closing wearily. "Fine. They won't be back and the case is considered closed." She wanted to consider it closed herself, but it would not leave her psyche and constantly invaded her thoughts. Was Fiona going to kill her, too, if she disobeyed or even looked at her the wrong way? Another sigh rushed out of her, and she opened her eyes to look at the blonde girl. "I'm tired; can you go smell up your own room? You stink like you showered with a bottle of whiskey."

Fiona chuckled quietly, leaning forward to press her forehead to Myrtle's. "You're so charming; I think I'm falling in love." Before the redhead could protest, Fiona sealed their lips together, her tongue greedily swiping past any barriers to lay claim to Myrtle's mouth. She reveled in the way she could make the girl moan quietly with just a kiss. Accepting the sound as permission, Fiona slid a hand down the top of Myrtle's nightgown to caress the soft skin of the top of her breasts. This earned another soft moan, and soon Myrtle's hands were on Fiona's waist, urging her closer.

Hearing a squeak in the floorboard, Fiona's attention flew to the doorway. "Shit..."

Somewhat dazed from her body's response to the heated kiss, Myrtle lifted her head off the pillow to see what Fiona was looking at in the moonlit room. "What?" she whispered.

"I fucking left the door open…"

"I'm quite sure that's not the worst thing you've done after drinking."

Fiona shot a glare at the redhead while easing her body off the bed. Creeping to the door, she peeked around it and down the hallway. Satisfied that no one was out there, she quietly shut the door and returned to her spot next to Myrtle on the bed. "No one was there, but I heard something."

Myrtle slipped her hands onto Fiona's waist again, pulling her closer. "Fiona?"

Moving willingly, she regarded the heavy lidded girl below her. "What?"

"Make your mouth useful and kiss me already."

Somewhat taken aback at her forwardness, Fiona smirked and then complied. For the second night in a row, they stripped each other of their clothing and brought each other to a mutual release in relative silence. Still uneasy about the noise from earlier, Fiona crept out of the room after they finished. She didn't believe in ghosts but could not shake the feeling of being watched while in Myrtle's room. Chalking it up to having too much to drink, she decided she'd feel safer in the confines of her own room that night.

Myrtle thought she couldn't possibly sigh anymore, but another one was produced as she rolled over onto her stomach, clutching her pillow under her cheek with both arms. Although it was summer, her bed felt impossibly cold without Fiona's body next to her, a feeling that she was growing alarmingly used to in a short amount of time. The meeting now properly put out of her mind, and her body relaxed thanks to Fiona's doing, Myrtle found it much easier to drift off to sleep.

**AN: Thank you for the encouraging reviews! You're all too kind!**


	4. 1977 - part 1

_"(Baby we both know)  
That the nights were mainly made  
For saying things that you can't say tomorrow day" - 'Do I Wanna Know?' by Arctic Monkeys_

**1977**

The summer months had gradually melted into the late fall weather, much akin to the cooling of the embers in a bonfire, still a blanket of warmth but not so much as to suffocate those who breathed the coastal air. The leaves had swirled into a painting of golden oranges and red, making it appear as though the trees had caught a motionless fire. When the fire quelled with the leaves falling from the branches, bitter cold often pierced the air. This cycle continued for several years, the only constant in Myrtle Snow's life as she pursued her goal of sustaining the coven's traditions.

Autumn had taken its turn in the rotation of seasons, the sky a dusty rose as the sun dwindled on the horizon. Myrtle leaned against the frame of her window to observe the trees outside the house, waiting. A black cat was perched on the dresser next to the window, loafing in the few beams of remaining sunlight that filtered into the room. Idly petting the cat's soft fur between its ears, Myrtle continued to gaze out the window in restrained anticipation.

It had been several years since Fiona rushed into marriage with an older gentleman she met at the local martini bar. Arthur Buchanan, a well-to-do businessman who had ties to the area, lived in an elitist section of town in San Antonio, Texas. Soon after meeting Fiona and going on several dates with her, he was convinced she was the love of his life or more specifically, the fifth love of his life after four prior failed marriages.

Myrtle wasn't upset by the marriage itself, but the very idea that the man was easily twenty years Fiona's senior worried her. She knew the shrewd woman could hold her own, but she still felt protective of her wellbeing. The epitome of the silent passive aggressive type, Myrtle would never confess her true feelings to Fiona, choosing instead to let them play out in the semi-darkness of her room. Until the day Fiona left the house to be with her new husband, she would sneak to Myrtle's room in the middle of the night when she could do so, to compel her to surrender to her touch. More often than not, their coupling was often a hot mess of Fiona in a drunken stupor full of a dissimilarity of both passion and control. She called the shots even when the whiskey content in her blood was higher than what was considered healthy, and like an obedient apprentice, Myrtle always submitted. Fiona assured the redhead countless times that what they were doing was perfectly fine; her relationship with Arthur was one of business, to ensure the future of the coven. Everything physical he desired from her was just an added benefit for him to partake in.

The cat stretched on the dresser, front limbs extending so that its claws raked against the woodgrain. Myrtle stroked the cat along its spine, recalling the look on Fiona's face when she revealed the account balances Arthur held at _several_ banks. Her eyes were wide with excitement, and Myrtle swore it looked like flames were lit in the iris of her eyes. It caused her to chuckle quietly, thinking of the blonde's relentless pursuit of wealth.

One night after a fast urgent exchange of fingers between each others legs, Fiona had announced to Myrtle that the wedding was going to be no grand affair but a simple exchange of vows in Arthur's hometown. They were leaving the next evening. Myrtle's chest felt like it was being crushed, and she didn't want to think about this day arriving so she begged Fiona to spend the night in her room. Much like the first time they slept together, Fiona made the woman beg for the second round, tantalizing her with feather-light touches on her inner thighs and then began sliding two fingers into the slick walls to coax another orgasm from her body. Having exercised practiced control of her vocalizations in the past went to shit on this night, though, as Myrtle let out a loud whimper and shouted Fiona's name.

"I want to remember how you taste forever, Myrtle Snow," Fiona had whispered before drawing her fingers into her own mouth to suck the wetness from them. They had collapsed in a tangle of naked flesh, clinging to each other tightly as they slept.

The next morning Myrtle found the blonde still encircled in her arms. It was the first time she had spent the whole night with her. Pressing her lips to Fiona's forehead and then burying her nose in her hair to inhale the sultry mix of cigarette smoke, perfume, and booze, she relished these last few minutes with the devilish woman that had been her undoing. Tracing Fiona's ribs with her fingers, Myrtle tried to ease her to a wakened state. "Fiona, you have to pack, he'll be here soon," she whispered against her head.

Groaning and stretching her appendages under the sheets, Fiona opened her eyes drowsily. "Fuck it, that's what Spalding's for," she muttered. With a shake of her head to tousle her blonde locks, Fiona pressed her lips to Myrtle's in a rush, almost indifferently. She was gone within minutes, barely mumbling a "good bye" as she strolled out of the room, her dress pulled on haphazardly and unzipped. Myrtle watched her leave as indefinable feelings coursed through her body. The door shut and that was it. She could still hear the hoarse voice on the other side of the door faintly. "Spalding! Quit sweeping and come help me pack my shit up."

The goodbye was not what Myrtle had expected, although with Fiona it did seem fitting to some degree. Myrtle had left the house shortly after to immerse herself in seclusion in the library, not wanting to be there when the blonde left, trying to delude herself that she was the indifferent one. When Myrtle returned to her room later that evening, she found a small cage on her bed with a black kitten curled up in a ball sleeping. A card was next to the cage with telltale feminine penmanship: "_Myr, told you I wouldn't leave you alone. I know it's not the kind of pussy you were hoping for, my little harlot, but hopefully she'll keep you company. XO - Fiona"_

Myrtle clutched the card to her chest, sinking to her knees in front of her bed to observe the sleeping kitten as hot tears rolled down her face. Silently weeping, her thin frame fell forward to lean against the side of the bed.

Over the following years, she grew close to the aptly named Soot. The cat had become her shadow, following her throughout her room and accompanying her to the various rooms in the academy's house. Myrtle had taken on a role of teacher, busying herself with the education of her students. The numbers had dwindled, but not alarmingly so. She still put her trust in Fiona as she reigned from afar, but the evenings were the most painful for Myrtle. She felt an ache that even Soot could not fill as she slumbered next to Myrtle's side. The sparsely received phone calls since Fiona's departure had been centered on the academy's financial status, and Fiona always held a light and happy tone of voice on the phone. Myrtle couldn't stand the phony persona that the woman had embodied, and dreaded their conversations. She couldn't even bring herself to her usual sarcastic wit to banter with Fiona. The phone calls always left a bad taste in her mouth.

Trying to find a replacement for the emotions she felt for the blonde, Myrtle would take up the occasional offer for a drink from both men and women, never letting it go very far. She had never been much of a drinker, so she would allow her company to drink so they felt at ease flirting with her, but when it came time to go home, she would make an excuse in order to disappear into the night to retreat home.

Movement outside the glass diverted her from her reverie. A discreet black sedan pulled up in front of the house beyond the front yard, the windows tinted to obscure the identity of its passengers, but Myrtle already knew who was in the vehicle. With a final pat on Soot's head, she made her way out of her bedroom to descend the staircase gracefully although her pulse belied her gait. The house was quiet, she noted, hoping the girls were not out causing any sort of trouble since she did not want her visit interrupted. Pulling the door of the colonial house open, she stood in the doorway, hands wringing together. A lone figure stepped out of the back of the sedan, shrouded in an ankle-length black dress, a hat perched atop their head, shading their visage. Standing near the vehicle as the driver unloaded several large suitcases, the individual was busied with lighting a cigarette soon after shoving a few bills into the driver's hand. Sauntering up the walkway, wispy smoke followed the figure. Upon reaching the porch, the hat was removed and blonde hair tumbled down to the woman's shoulders.

"God, you're still wearing the same old shit? Don't you ever go shopping?" Taking a drag from the cigarette, she almost seemed polite while blowing the mouthful of smoke off to the side. Fiona gave the redhead a look up and down as she stepped around her into the foyer.

"Fiona, you're still using the same tired lines. Don't you read any books?" Myrtle crossed her arms in front of her chest as she followed her, leaving the door open. "I'm sorry about Arthur." She watched the woman as she set her hat on a nearby table, her large sunglasses following suit. Fiona's skin appeared to glow, likely from the sunshine that haunted the skies of Texas, and Myrtle noticed that she seemed to have matured slightly over the last few years. Her hips, although hidden beneath the long dress, looked a touch wider, and her hair had been shortened considerably. Youth still radiated from her as much as the arrogant confidence she possessed.

Fiona waved the hand that held the cigarette dismissively, glancing off to the side. "Christ, please. He was old and boring. I'm glad it was a heart attack and not some long ass illness. I would have died if I had to sit around those stuffy bitches for much longer. The money should be transferred into the account within a few weeks."

"About that, Fiona," Myrtle paused, allowing space for Spalding to exit the house to retrieve the suitcases that remained in the driveway. "Where the hell is it all going? I thought you said you would let me control the finances? I've had to go to the bank a few times to deposit my own funds. What have you been doing with it?"

A trail of smoke fluttered past Myrtle's nose as Fiona exhaled loudly. "What exactly are you insinuating, Myrtle? That I fucking stole it? You only have one fucking job and that's to make sure the funds don't disappear. Do I need to find someone else to take care of this?" The blonde approached Myrtle in an ominous fashion, now pointedly blowing smoky circles into the redhead's face. "Were you feeling too…abandoned to give a fuck about the coven? I heard you had a little witch friend to keep you company for a while before she went bonkers. Isobel, was it?" She gave an all knowing sneer, but it didn't have the intended effect as Myrtle remained steadfast in her posture.

"You leave her out of this, Fiona. You know damn well I didn't touch that money. My concern, my whole entire _life_ is with this school, and that's all I've been doing these last few years while you were off screwing Father Time. I budget to the last penny for this academy, so you know full well that I have nothing to do with this mysterious depletion." Myrtle's eyes darkened as their eyes locked in a standoff.

"Damn, I've missed you." And with that, Fiona's lips were searing on Myrtle's mouth with rampant passion, her free hand clutching the red hair to hold the woman in place. Shuffling noises behind them caused them to part abruptly, and Spalding gave a nod of his head as he slipped past the women with Fiona's overbearing suitcases. Fiona wiped the corners of her mouth with her thumb and forefinger. "Put them in Myrtle's room. I'm not bunking up with the minors." The man disappeared up the stairs after a momentary struggle, leaving the two in silence. Fiona threw the spent cigarette on the floor, toeing it with her high heeled shoe.

Chest heaving with longing and full-fledged frustration, Myrtle finally uncrossed her arms to adjust her glasses. "I never said you could stay in my room."

"That's because you don't have the balls to ask for what you want, Myrtle. Let's go to the bar. That funeral was a fucking ray of sunshine and I need a drink." Fiona had moved toward the large mirror in the foyer to primp her hair. "I better get to work on finding another...benefactor, too if the money keeps disappearing."

"Where do you think its going?" Calming somewhat, Myrtle shut the door and turned to face Fiona so she could watch her inspect her impeccable hair and makeup in the mirror.

"Well, it's safe to say you're not buying clothes with it," Fiona responded with a slight roll of her eyes. "You're changing before we leave. You can wear something of mine." Letting out a haughty sigh after smearing another layer of lipstick on her lips, she faced Myrtle. "Alright, so you didn't take it and I didn't take it, we'll figure it out. Let's just forget about it for tonight and have fun. We can be Nancy Drew and shit tomorrow morning."

Myrtle gave her a pointedly skeptical look, her lips shifting to the side.

"Afternoon, whatever," Fiona acquiesced. "Come on, my lovely, let's get you looking decent." Linking her arm with Myrtle's, they ascended the staircase.


	5. 1977 - part 2

_"Crawlin' back to you  
Ever thought of calling when you've had a few?  
'Cause I always do  
Maybe I'm too…busy being yours to fall for somebody new  
Now I've thought it through" - 'Do I Wanna Know?' by Arctic Monkeys_

**1977 - part 2**

"This is going to be a waste of time, you know. We _should_ be going over the bank statements to figure out what is going on, or is this your way of distracting me?" Myrtle pulled yet another article of clothing from Fiona's obnoxiously large suitcase, setting it on the bed to smooth out the wrinkles. It was an assembly line of sorts; Myrtle would pull out the contents of the suitcase, and Fiona would put them away in the wardrobe and then the closet once it was full. She didn't have a problem finding space as Myrtle was quite a minimalist with her clothing, much to Fiona's repulsion.

"Oh, please. If I wanted to distract you, all I'd have to do is stick my hand up your skirt." Waggling her fingers for one of the final pieces of clothing, she draped it over a hanger. "Have some damn pity for me, my husband just died."

A soft snort sounded from Myrtle as she sat on the edge of her bed, arms crossed over her chest. Soot followed her owner, loafing her small body nearby. "Yeah, you seem devastated, seeing as you want to go to the bar."

"Better than sitting around here moping and getting old," Fiona retorted as she searched through the closet. She pulled a long black dress out, similar to the one she was wearing and draped it over Myrtle's lap. "This should do it. Go change so we can get the hell out of here." Without waiting for a reply, she strolled back over to the closet to select a much shorter dress which she unashamedly changed into in front of the redhead.

Myrtle gave a slight shake of her head, closing her eyes momentarily. Removing her glasses, she toyed with them as if contemplating whether or not she should go along with this charade. "Maybe this isn't a good idea, Fiona. I can pick you up afterward if you'd like."

With the much shorter dress settling around her hips and her long legs magnified by the high heels she had slipped on, Fiona rolled her eyes. She opened a small clutch on Myrtle's mirrored dresser, pulling out a few items. "Quit being so dull. You need to get out and live a little." Fine powder was poured onto the dresser, a small razor was uncapped, and a small apparatus that appeared to be a straw was assembled onto the dresser as Myrtle stared in wide-eyed curiosity. "Just have one drink with me. That's probably all your scrawny ass can handle, anyway. Shit, you probably don't even buy food for these poor witch children here." A glance was thrown over her shoulder at Myrtle before she began cutting up the small pile of powder into finer dust. Wiping the blade clean with a forefinger, she dabbed the fingertip to her tongue and let out a soft groan. Expertly portioning the dust, she placed some in a small vial that was put into her clutch for the evening.

"What the hell are you doing?" Myrtle stood quickly, startling the cat that darted under the bed.

"Oh calm down, it's just a little something to lighten up with. You should try it sometime. Might make you more…pleasant to be around." Fiona leaned over the dresser with the short straw-like item, taking in a sharp breath. Straightening, she ran her index finger under her nose. "Your clothes, though, that it won't help with. Are you going to change?" Acting as though snorting the powder was the most natural thing in the world, Fiona set to work on touching up her makeup, ignoring Myrtle's stunned expression.

"A little something?! This is what you've been wasting the money on?! Unbelievable!" Myrtle was furious, and it showed as she tore off her clothes to pull on the modest black dress. It felt expensive and most likely was, knowing Fiona's taste in clothing. "How dare you come back here to accuse me when you're clearly siphoning the money to fund your little habit!" Once she adjusted the short lace sleeves, hands trembling with anger, she stepped over to the blonde, hands on her waist. "I'll go tonight, but you are leaving tomorrow, Fiona. I won't let you stay and ruin this place!"

Letting out a sigh, Fiona turned to regard the incensed woman. She narrowed her eyes as they stood nearly toe-to-toe. "Enough!" Her hand lifted as if she was going to strike Myrtle, but she resisted, not wanting to taint the woman's skin since they were going out. "It's not going to be ruined. I'm the fucking Supreme, don't you think I'd want to preserve the academy? Without it, I'm just another fucking witch that wears Chanel and likes good blow." Another exhale to force some calmness into her body was all Fiona needed to continue. "Besides, I don't have connections here, and I likely won't buy any after what I have left is gone. So…relax and go put on some fuck-me shoes instead of those grandma ones you have on. I don't suppose you have any liquor around here either, do you?"

Defeated once again, Myrtle could do nothing more than silently fume as she put on a pair of heels that did not appear to be as difficult to walk in as the countless others that Fiona had lined up in the corner of the bedroom. She ignored the question and responded with her own threat. "I'll be watching you, Fiona. Like a hawk."

"I love when you talk dirty, now let's go." Fiona waited until Myrtle was within distance so she could pinch her behind as they left the bedroom.

* * *

The martini bar was crowded with a variety of people, a good mix of young and old, and a cloud of smoke hung in the air like a stationary translucent balloon. Fiona and Myrtle had secured a small table for the two of them off to the side of the room but still in the midst of any potential suitors that Fiona may deem worthy of her time. Waving down another round of whiskey for herself and water for Myrtle, Fiona slumped back in her chair as she lit a cigarette. "I hate to say it, but you were fucking right. This is a waste of time. None of these fools have any money." Blowing out a steady stream of smoke, she toyed with the small shot glass that she had emptied minutes before. Fiona appeared to be in control even after the inhaled powder from earlier and several shots of whiskey.

Myrtle envied the feline-like grace that the woman possessed and found herself staring at her throughout the night. Her emotions and thoughts were snarled and twisted, and she didn't know which to grasp onto and pursue. "How do you know?"

"Well, it's easy," Fiona said, drawing in another hit from her cigarette before exhaling a puff of smoke. "Take that guy over there at the bar by that horrible dye-job blonde. His jacket is wrinkled and is a shade off from the pants - not a matching suit _at_ _all_. Shoes are scuffed, laces tattered." Eyes continued to scan the scene as she took another drag. "He just ordered low-end Vodka for them. Mmm, and the cigarettes he's smoking are the bargain basement brand. Poor as shit. Might as well go look in the slums for someone." Apparently disgusted, Fiona rolled her eyes (which she seemed to do quite a bit that day) and continued to smoke in silence.

"That's…amazing. I never thought you were that observant. My, my, Fiona, you never cease to amaze me with your skills. Remind me to never play poker with you." Myrtle's comment was an honest one, but tinged with bitterness due to their earlier exchange. As the waiter set the shot of whiskey down and the water, Myrtle reached for the shot before Fiona could react. She downed it in one fluid motion, face scrunching from the unexpected burn.

"Holy shit! Myrtle Snow, did you just take a shot?! Looks like we both have some skills we need to share with each other." Fiona grinned at the redhead out of fascination and what seemed to be desire. Her demeanor shifted from listlessness to one of excitement as she grasped Myrtle's knee under the table with her free hand. "I just got the most brilliant idea!"

If Fiona had been a cartoon, Myrtle would swear that a lightbulb would appear above her head. Just like that, Myrtle was hooked again on the toxic woman that had left her behind for several years. It could have been the alcohol or maybe the way the sun had changed Fiona, but Myrtle couldn't deny the hold that Fiona had over her even after her absence. The whiskey settled warmly in her stomach, making her feel lightheaded. Her hand covered Fiona's hand on her knee, keeping it in place. "What is that?"

"The casino! What better place to find rich men that have nothing better to do with their money than the casino? Come on, let's go!" Stubbing the cigarette out in the ash tray on the table, Fiona stood, pulling Myrtle up by her wrist.

"But, we didn't pay?" Myrtle's brow furrowed, tugging Fiona's hand as she tried to halt the eager blonde.

"Sweetheart, I'm not paying for this swill. No one even came to talk to us."

The waiter had returned as he noticed the two women standing. He held up his hand, standing in front of Fiona. "Ladies, are you leaving? You haven't…"

"Paid yet? Of course we did, darling. The last round I even gave you a really nice tip." Fiona tilted her head to the side with a brilliant smile gracing her features, and lifted a hand to brush her fingertips over the man's smooth cheek.

The man blinked a few times, entranced by something that had occurred silently between him and Fiona. "I, uh, I'm sorry, miss. I apologize, I must have forgotten. You both have a lovely evening." With that, he flashed them a quick smile, albeit a confused one, and walked away from them.

"Fiona, that was awful," Myrtle murmured.

"He'll be fine; we only had a few drinks." Shrugging her shoulders, she continued pushing her way out of the bar with Myrtle in tow behind her.

Once outside, Myrtle looked over to the blonde. "So, taxi?"

"Hell, don't be ridiculous. We're taking a private sedan." A payphone stood lonely on the corner. Fiona made her way over to it to make a phone call then returned to Myrtle's side. She peered at her in the streetlights, squinting slightly. "Come here, you need a little more makeup if we're going to catch anyone's attention."

The effects of the alcohol still making her rather pliable, Myrtle took a step closer and allowed Fiona to use her as a canvas, eyelids heavy as the woman's fingers brushed over her skin.

The lipstick was applied last, and Fiona couldn't help herself. She leaned toward Myrtle, capturing her mouth with her own for a kiss, one that was quick and hard. Pulling away, she left Myrtle breathless. "Shit, now I gotta put more lipstick on you."

Headlights shone on them as she finished applying the lipstick a second time, and they stepped apart. The sedan had arrived and the driver exited to pull the door open. The drive to the casino was a quiet one as Fiona lit another cigarette and Myrtle stared out the window watching the city lights rush by in a dizzying pace. Myrtle had never been truly drunk before, but having the tiniest taste of it was intoxicating and she felt like she wanted to try it just once. She pondered on having another drink at the casino, hoping that she would still be able to keep Fiona in line at the same time.

As if she could hear Myrtle's thoughts, she glanced over the same time that Myrtle happened to be staring at her, and smirked. One hand reached over to glide along the inside of Myrtle's thigh, fingertips brushing against her center. "If we win big tonight, we'll stay in a suite. It will be marvelous, trust me."

Those two words that Fiona used so easily around Myrtle were two words that she always hesitated to believe in the back of her mind. But for whatever reason, she found herself doing so again. She returned the smirk to Fiona, sliding closer to her on the bench seat of the sedan, thankful for the cover of darkness.


	6. 1977 - part 3

_"How many secrets can you keep_  
_'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow_  
_When I play it on repeat_  
_Until I fall asleep_  
_Spilling drinks on my settee" - 'Do I Wanna Know?' by Arctic Monkeys_

**1977 - part 3**

"Myr," a plaintive voice echoed from a room blocked by a half-open door.

Head lifting at the sound, Myrtle murmured an unintelligible reply, not caring if she was heard. Her eyes were affixed to papers spread out on her small desk in the bedroom. She had spent the majority of her free time scouring bank statements to determine a pattern or some type of hint as to where all the money was going. Of course, Fiona was adamant that they figure it out on their own lest the bank alert any type of authorities about the account. A fingertip ran down the length of the page, halting at the next noise.

"Myr!" Louder and persistent this time, the voice was cut off by the sound of liquid splashing.

Standing at once to approach the adjoining bathroom at the sound of retching, Myrtle peeked beyond the doorway hesitantly. Grateful to have the privilege of her own restroom as the headmistress, Myrtle pushed the door all the way open to reveal the occupant.

The last time she had been called into a bathroom by Fiona was at the casino's hotel several weeks ago, albeit under better circumstances.

As Fiona's spontaneous idea played out that evening, Myrtle found herself growing more intoxicated with her presence. She even ventured to take another shot at the bar before they took up post at one of the craps table.

Fishing for men had always been a hobby for Fiona, but Myrtle was content to observe the blonde and to try her hand at the game. Fiona flirted with two men beside her who, not by coincidence, had the most chips in front of them. One of the men had become rather an obnoxious drunk while his acquaintance apologized to Fiona and Myrtle profusely. He mentioned that he befriended the man just a few hours ago and he obviously had drunk too much. Once Fiona found out that Jackson Wells owned several homes and inherited his millionaire parents' fortune, she insisted it was no problem at all.

Later on after the drunken companion of Jackson's insulted Myrtle's glasses and lack of conversation, Fiona glared at him pointedly. She pulled a cigarette from her clutch, lifting it to his level. "Hey, got a light?"

Myrtle watched cautiously, and Jackson shook his head, watching the other man pat his pockets in a stupor, looking for his lighter. Finding it, he held it unsteadily to the end of Fiona's cigarette. As it lit, the flame suddenly billowed and traveled up his hand to his forearm. The man screamed, dropping the lighter.

"Thanks." Fiona drew in a lengthy hit from the cigarette, ignoring the man thrashing on the ground as people crowded to help him. "Too bad about that faulty lighter." Linking arms with Myrtle as the redhead scrambled to gather her chips from the table, Fiona pulled her away.

"Fiona!" Myrtle hissed as they moved out of earshot of the casino patrons. "You can't keep coercing people and setting things on fire out here! It's not safe for us!"

"The hell I can't! You can repress yourself all you want but I'm not sheltering my gifts like a fucking virgin saving herself for marriage." Their exchange, not loud enough to be overheard, was heated by undertones of anger. Fiona took a drag from the cigarette attempting to alleviate her irritation. "Cash out. I need you to go with me to the bathroom."

"You're lucky I'm still tipsy. I have half a mind to leave you here." Myrtle went to cash in her chips, leaving Fiona standing there to smoke her cigarette amongst the tinny sound of slot machines and the faint cries of a man that might have still been on fire.

"Interesting, I didn't think you'd feel safe around me," Fiona said to Jackson as he approached her.

"Well, he had it coming. That was a little strange but I'm sure it wasn't your fault. It's not like you could have known it was defective." Jackson shrugged, flashing her a smile of perfectly white teeth. His sandy hair hung just enough in his eyes not to look shabby, and his features were much younger than Arthur's. He pressed a business card into Fiona's empty hand, pulling it up for a soft kiss. "Call me sometime. I'll take you to dinner."

A radiating smile remained on her face as she watched him amble away, hints of predatory need coming into the midst of her smile.

"Okay. What's so funny?" Myrtle adjusted the bills she received to tuck them into her purse, glancing at Fiona.

Drawing in a deep breath from the cigarette almost to the point of finishing it, and then exhaling luxuriously slow, Fiona smirked. "Found husband number two. Let's go celebrate, darlin'."

Inside the small restroom of the disco inside the casino, several women huddled at the sink exchanging compliments and other items while either fixing their hair, cleavage, or makeup, smoking a cigarette, or doing a line off the counter. Some did all of the aforementioned, much like Fiona began to do as she crammed herself against the counter. First, the vial was pulled out of her clutch and she lifted it to her nose to take in a hearty snort. Eyes closed, she shook her head, steadying herself against the counter. Hair and makeup reassessed a moment later, Fiona turned her attention to Myrtle who stood nearby watching the drunken girls who looked higher than kites or pilled out. Without asking, Fiona smeared another swipe of lipstick on the redhead's lips. "Alright, baby doll, let's get some drinks and dance!"

Inside the dark disco, they were able to blend in easily since the patrons were undeniably under the influence of something or another. Fingertips brushed against them as they walked past the dancing area to the bar to order their drinks. Fiona winked at some young man next to her and his instant reply was that their drinks were on him. She flashed an innocent smile and shrugged at Myrtle.

"I'm serious, quit flashing it around like it's a damn bracelet from Tiffany's!" Myrtle spoke loudly to be heard over the thudding music.

"Maybe I like getting you all hot and bothered," Fiona challenged, sliding a finger down the middle of the woman's chest between her breasts, which were modestly covered by the black dress.

"I bet." Myrtle couldn't come up with a better retort. Whenever Fiona so much as breathed on her, she felt her senses go haywire and she lost her semblance of reason. With the few drinks she had, after seldom drinking alcohol to begin with, the feelings were only exacerbated.

A man, the typical tall, dark, and handsome type, came up to Myrtle's side to grasp her elbow gently. He tilted his head toward the dance floor in silent questioning. Looking at the man with a dumbfounded expression, Myrtle glanced to Fiona who shrugged her shoulders indifferently as she took a swig from her glass of whiskey.

The man was polite enough, leading the way during the jaunty song, hands resting on Myrtle's waist, and she even appeared to be enjoying herself. Smiling at the man, she nearly forgot that Fiona was still at the bar.

Fiona didn't forget, though. She glowered at the scene in front of her, watching the two dance incrementally closer together. This was not her usual scenario - _she_ was supposed to be asked to dance. Not being able to contain her jealousy, she gave a lazy flourish of her free hand then smirked as the man fell backward on the dance floor. Myrtle's eyes shot immediately to Fiona, her resentment visible. She mouthed the word "bitch" then bent over to help him up from the floor. The song had ended by that point and they parted ways. Myrtle didn't bother hiding her fury, storming back over to a nonchalant Fiona who was leaning against the bar.

"He's not much of a dancer, I see."

"Fiona, enough! I've had enough!" A single palm cracked against Fiona's cheek and Myrtle strode out of the bar.


	7. 1977 - part 4

_"Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions  
Oh, let's go back to the start  
Running in circles, coming up tails  
Heads on a science apart" - 'The Scientist' by Coldplay_

**1977 - part 4**

Momentarily stunned, Fiona slammed back the rest of her drink and followed the redhead. "Myr, wait! Hey!" Chasing her through the throng of people, she finally caught up to her in the lobby that led to the hotel. "Myrtle Snow, don't you dare leave this casino," she growled.

Spinning on her heels to face Fiona, she stopped mid-stride. "Or what?! You'll set me on fire, too? Push me off the curb into oncoming traffic? Huh?! What are you going to do to me?!"

Closing the distance between them, Fiona slipped her hands on Myrtle's waist, pressing her cheek against hers. "So many things, if you'll let me. I need you so bad, Myr…let's stay the night here." The effect of the fine powder she had inhaled earlier was taking its toll on her, heightening her senses to an absurd level. Things that should have caused pain such as a slap to her face only served to increase her arousal.

Tangled in a predicament she had no solution for, Myrtle briefly shut her eyes as she inhaled the woman's scent. "I hate you, Fiona," she murmured.

"I know." Brushing her nose against Myrtle's neck, she breathed on her skin hotly and pulled back to take the redhead's hand.

Fiona had used her coercion once more at the front desk to secure a complementary suite in the casino's attached hotel, which earned another disappointed scowl from Myrtle. Any residual effects of disappointment faded once they opened the door to reveal a large bed, floor to ceiling windows, and an extravagant bathroom complete with both a glass door shower and a jetted tub.

Myrtle set her purse down on the bed, removed the uncomfortable heels she had borrowed, and crossed the room to look out at the beach from the window. It was dark outside but she could see the faint outline of the horizon. Her head felt pleasantly fuzzy from the alcohol, but there was a nuance of frustration beneath the surface. How she could feel such an attraction to a woman who infuriated her to no end was a baffling thing to ponder. Myrtle had been attracted to females for most of her young life, and used to chalk it up to wanting to emulate them, but Fiona had altogether set the spark inside of her aflame and kept adding more fuel to it like a deranged pyromaniac.

The door shut behind her and Myrtle heard the shower turn on.

"Myrrrr…" Sounding similar to a cat chittering at its prey as she called Myrtle, Fiona stripped her clothes off in a frenzy before stepping into the shower.

Removing her glasses to set them on the dresser, Myrtle went to the bathroom to open the door. The knob resisted her efforts. She tapped on the door a few times. "It's locked."

No response.

Hand poised to knock again, Myrtle toppled forward as the door flew open.

Fiona snickered from the shower. Within seconds she shrieked, jumped back from the water and then frantically played with the faucet. "You bitch!" She yelped. "You're such a hypocrite!"

It was Myrtle's turn to smirk. "You need a cold shower anyway, you're out of control. Those drugs only amplify it."

Anything else Myrtle would have said was silenced as she took in the sight of Fiona in the shower. Proving Myrtle's statement true, Fiona was sliding her hands up and down her body, her naked breasts pushed into the stream of water with her back arched. Transfixed, Myrtle watched as her slender fingers glided over her pert breasts, down her ribs, across her stomach and then to the tops of her thighs. Repeating this motion several times, Fiona moaned, ducking her head under the warm water. She pulled back and glanced over to Myrtle who stared at her with a stunned expression. "Are you gonna watch or get your ass in here?"

Feeling only slightly self-conscious thanks to the amount of alcohol she consumed throughout the night, Myrtle removed the borrowed dress to lay it on the counter. Her undergarments followed and she approached the shower, hands clasped over her pelvic region.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before, don't be such a prude."

Myrtle pulled the door open and was met with a steamy spray of water. Fiona's hands were on her immediately as their lips fused together. Feeling the cool tile meet her back, Myrtle groaned, palms brushing over Fiona's breasts lightly. Her hands dropped, attempting to follow the blonde's movements as she crouched in front of her.

"Well, fuck," Fiona exclaimed in between pressing her lips in a downward trail on Myrtle's stomach. "You really _are_ a redhead." The comment ended with Fiona's mouth burying between Myrtle's thighs to lick feverishly at her folds.

The rest of the night was blurry for Myrtle, this being the first time Fiona saw her in a non-darkened room and a first for her using her tongue to hungrily draw out a wave of pleasure well deserving of the shrieks of ecstasy spilling out of Myrtle.

* * *

The scene in front of Myrtle now many weeks later was very much the opposite of what transpired after Fiona's seductive beckoning.

Fiona was kneeling on the floor wedged between the elegant tub and the toilet, her elbows resting on the edge of the seat as she propped her head up with her palms alongside her jaw. It was short-lived as her hands gripped the cool porcelain, head dipping down to retch again, and Myrtle moved toward her to pull her straight blonde strands back behind her face.

"Again, Fiona? Please, let me take you to the doctor already. You haven't been able to keep anything down today." Myrtle kept her sarcasm and wit at bay, and exuded care instead. She used her nimble fingers as a brush to comb the golden locks back to keep them safe from Fiona's reappearing lunch. Usually, her hangovers were never this bad since her body operated as if alcohol were a required substance. Myrtle wondered briefly if the woman had mixed liquor with wine or something worse. Wrinkling her nose, she used her other hand to pull the lever once Fiona ceased heaving to remove the disgusting contents from view.

"Water," Fiona rasped hoarsely, head returning to her palms to block out the brightness of everything.

"Alright, hold onto your hair." Myrtle gently tugged Fiona's hand to press it to the back of her head to keep her hair in place. Filling a small cup with water from the faucet, she knelt down next to Fiona again. She held the glass to her lips, letting her take a small sip then set it on the floor. Fiona swished the water in her mouth and spit into the toilet, reaching for the glass to repeat this a couple of times to rinse the acidic taste of bile from her mouth.

"Fiona, let's go to the doctor." Pulling her own hair out of the elastic band she wore, Myrtle tied Fiona's tresses back carefully so as not to make her move

"No, I'm fine, damnit." The words bounced off the bowl, Fiona's head starting to tilt down again.

Grabbing a nearby towel, Myrtle fashioned a makeshift pillow and set it on the edge of the claw foot tub. She pulled Fiona back slowly so she could slouch down with her back leaning against the tub and rest her head on the towel.

"You don't look fine. What did you drink yesterday? Or should I say, how much did you drink?"

Fiona's head rolled to the side slightly and then back - it was her meager version of shaking her head. "Didn't drink, I went to the movies with Jackson," she muttered quietly. Her eyes were watery from the force of her prior upheaval, and her skin color had paled. She tried to keep her eyes open but failed.

Myrtle shifted on the floor so she was sitting next to Fiona but facing her so she could press the back of her hand to the woman's forehead. "You don't feel feverish. I doubt it's food related." She paused, dusting Fiona's cheek with cool fingertips. "When's the last time you...you know, did...blow?" Might as well get to the point, she thought sullenly.

"Casino," was the stark reply. Fiona sat up gingerly so she could take another sip of water.

Trying to contain a surge of relief and pride, Myrtle nodded, fully believing her. "Maybe it's still withdrawal effects?"

"No...been fine all week. I'll be fine. Need sleep." As if to solidify this point, her head dropped back to the towel again with a soft grunt.

Pulse quickening, Myrtle suddenly grasped Fiona's hand and squeezed. It wasn't quite a long shot, but she did notice Fiona's skirts hugging her hips a little more tightly lately, and she _was_ eating some strange combinations of food over the last few weeks. "When was your last cycle?" She leaned toward her in subdued excitement.

Fiona's eyes flew open in what appeared to be horror. "No." Struggling to sit up again with renewed energy, she repeated herself. "No!"

Watching the blonde's reaction with confusion, Myrtle tugged her hand to get her attention. "What? What's wrong?"

"I thought, oh fuck...no, goddammit!" Fiona's free hand slapped the ledge of the toilet. At the insistent squeeze of Myrtle's hand, she continued, trying to maintain control. "I thought it was because of being upset that Arthur died that my shit was out of sync." Nearly folding in half, she buried her face into the top of her drawn up knees. "I can't be! I just can't!"

"Fiona, this is wonderful news if it's true!" Myrtle didn't try to disguise the happiness in her voice. "You'll be carrying on the bloodline!"

Fiona's shoulders were shaking as she sobbed, ripping her hand free from Myrtle's so she could shield her face. "I can't do this! Jackson is going to be done with me when he finds out!"

"Then dump him first. If he's half as amazing as you said he was, I doubt he'll mind that you're carrying your dead husband's baby. No one is that cruel." Myrtle slid her palm along Fiona's spine.

The bathroom was silent aside from the sniffles Fiona let out periodically as she tried to accept the gravity of this situation. They sat on the floor in an awkward sense of companionable silence, Myrtle slowly rubbing her back.

"Fiona, we need this to happen. You know that, right? The coven needs a future, and who better to lead the way than the Supreme?" Myrtle spoke quietly, hoping to reassure her.

"And what if it skips a generation? Then I have a defective child?"

"Keep up the positive thoughts, I'm sure that will help." Shaking her head, Myrtle slipped her index finger under Fiona's chin to lift her head. "Hey, I'll be here for you. And Jackson seems like a nice man. I'm sure his infatuation with you runs deep enough to stay with you; baby or no baby." Mine does at least, she thought sadly, wishing she had the right words to convince the headstrong woman that this was not the end of the world.

Fiona nodded uncertainly, leaning into Myrtle for an embrace where she hid her face in the redhead's shoulder. They remained that way, Myrtle's hands taking on the dual task of holding her close and massaging the back of Fiona's neck.

* * *

**A/N: I borrowed the "I hate you" / "I know" exchange from misstikaart's beautiful drawing of Myrtle and Fiona on tumblr. But LadyNobleSong is still my supreme muse. xo**


	8. 1977 - part 5

_"Nobody said it was easy  
No one ever said it would be this hard  
Oh, take me back to the start_" - 'The Scientist' by Coldplay

**1977 - part 5**

Confrontation had always been sort of an art form for Myrtle. She never backed down from a challenge and loved a good debate when reasonably argued with supporting facts. This time, however, was different. The bank statements clearly showed that Fiona had been withdrawing the money, or at least the locations showed as such. All in the local area of where she was living before returning to New Orleans, Myrtle had no other viable answer as to where the money was going. Letting out a heavy breath, she paced in the kitchen while waiting for soup to warm on the stove.

In the last week since confirming her pregnancy with a store-bought test, Fiona had resigned to secluding herself in Myrtle's bed. She hardly ate and seemed to spend most of her time weeping. Myrtle gave up with trying to convince her with words and instead would cradle Fiona against her, stroking her silky blonde hair until she fell in a restless sleep. Jackson had called a few times and even though Fiona pleaded with Myrtle to tell him she moved away, Myrtle couldn't bring herself to lie to him. "She's been under the weather," she would tell him, feeling a small pang of sadness for his disappointed response.

Stirring the soup since Spalding was taking care of chores outside, she thought of the best way to approach Fiona about the financial state of the coven. If Myrtle had to guess, based on the woman's current state she would likely offer up the truth and then continue to wallow in depression. Although, it _was_ Fiona, so there was no telling how she would react.

With the soup properly warmed, Myrtle spooned some into a bowl resting on a tray. Bearing gifts might help, too, she thought wryly.

The door swung open slowly with a groan, wood creaking, and Myrtle walked into the bedroom, glancing back to the door to shut it. She set the tray on the small table by the bed and leaned over Fiona's body as she had curled into a fetal position. Using her fingertips to brush strands of hair back from Fiona's face, Myrtle bent further to press her lips to her cheek. "I made your lunch, FiFi," she said quietly with a smirk. Getting her riled up would be better than watching her look so forlorn.

"Go to hell," was the sleep-tinged reply. "I told you to quit calling me that." Shifting in bed to face Myrtle, Fiona struggled to prop herself up against the pillows.

"I told you to quit being a selfish bitch, but I guess we can't always get what we want." Myrtle sat on the edge of the bed to face Fiona. "Snap out of it already. You should be thankful for your baby."

"Oh, I'm thankful alright. Thankful I didn't have to puke today." Fiona scowled, arms crossing over her chest.

"What is it, Fiona? Are you worried about your figure? Is that what this boils down to is your own vain misgivings?"

Instead of a typical snarky reply, Fiona kept her gaze downward and shook her head. "I'm not ready. I can't do this yet."

"Well, that's why you get a few months to prepare." Myrtle slipped a hand onto Fiona's forearm, caressing her skin. "You'll be a wonderful mother, Fiona. I know it."

"Being a mother sounds so...old, Myr. Fuck." Fiona shook her head dejectedly.

"Everyone gets old. It's not exactly earth-shattering news."

"No shit. It doesn't mean I have to like it," Fiona huffed. She drew her arms out of the closed-off pose and reached for the soup. "Little bastard is stealing my energy already."

"Technically, you _were_ married, so it's not a bastard. It could even be a girl," Myrtle said with contained excitement. "Oh, Fiona, I know this doesn't bring you joy, but I just know this baby will be special." Placing a palm on Fiona's still relatively flat stomach, Myrtle offered her a small smile.

"Jesus. Don't make me break my record of not puking today." Rolling her eyes, Fiona ate some of the soup and then finally looked at Myrtle who was still touching her stomach. "I called Jackson earlier. I told him that I would accept his marriage proposal if he accepted my pregnancy."

Myrtle's eyebrows rose beyond the rims of her glasses and she glanced up at Fiona. "And?"

"He said he loved me and didn't care as long as we moved to California after it's born." A shrug lifted her shoulders and she went back to taking small spoonfuls of soup.

Myrtle cringed inwardly at Fiona's constant reference to her baby as "it," but didn't say anything. "That'll be nice." Nice her ass. Trying her best to shield her emotions, Myrtle stared at Fiona's stomach. She was going to leave, again. She'd be alone, again. Wanting to instigate something other than the stabbing sorrow she just felt, Myrtle pulled her hand away to set it on her lap with its mate. Her fingers twisted together tightly. "I came up here for something else, too."

"Oh great, you have a thing for pregnant women? You really are a kinky bitch, Myrtle." Almost back to her usual self, Fiona smirked. She put the half-empty bowl on the table. "Better have at it before I get too fat."

Sighing at the lack of seriousness, Myrtle lifted a hand to adjust her glasses. "Fiona, this is a serious matter."

That wiped the smirk from her face. Fiona's brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"The money. I received some more detailed statements going back a couple of years." Pausing, not for dramatic effect but to brace herself, Myrtle then continued. "You've been taking the money, Fiona. It showed the withdrawals in Texas and transfers to other offshore accounts. Of course, they won't release that information to m-"

"Are you fucking serious?" Fiona interjected.

Here it comes, Myrtle thought to herself.

"Have you fucking lost your marbles?! You think I took all of that money?! Not to mention it was mine to begin with, but why would I take it?!" Fiona slammed a fist on the bed.

"I don't think you took it, I know you did. I have proof." Myrtle held her ground, not letting the outburst rattle her.

"Bullshit! That's such bullshit!" Fiona strung together a strand of various cuss words; some Myrtle doubted the validity of as they assaulted her ears. "How could you even believe that, Myrtle?! Are you that naive?"

"Naive? All I did was read the statements and track it down. It's not rocket science, Fiona."

"Who else has access to the funds? How do I know you didn't take the money?" Fiona fired off her questions, her face growing flushed by the second.

"I will show you the papers." Still the epitome of grace and calmness, Myrtle rose from the bed. "You'll need to remove your name from the account and only the council will have access. I'm sorry."

"Like hell you're sorry!" she nearly spat at the redhead. "I would just love to see that paperwork, you frizzy-haired whore. Go ahead and prove it to me."

Taken aback at the insult, Myrtle's hands came together again to clasp tightly. "I will when I get back later."

Hastily turning to leave the room, Myrtle jumped as the door slammed heavily behind her, soon followed by something that sounded very close to a soup bowl exploding against wood.

Passing Spalding on her way to the study, Myrtle politely asked him to clean the soup and broken bowl in her room. He gave a slow nod then went into the house.

"Did that fire haired bitch leave?" Fiona murmured as the servant cleaned the door and swept up the glass.

He noted that glass always seemed to break in Myrtle's room. Unable to speak without his tongue he shook his head side to side.

"Follow her. I want to know where she goes. If she leaves this house just to fucking pick a flower out of the garden, I want to know about it." Reaching to the bedside table, she pulled out a cigarette. Without hesitation she lit it and inhaled a long breath with a pensive expression. "Take a goddamn pen and paper with you so you can write it down." Smoke escaped her lips like thick fog.

Nodding again, Spalding ambled out of the room after cleaning. He shut the door behind him and set off on Myrtle's trail.


	9. 1977 - part 6

_"And you can break a heart that wasn't even yours to break  
You could never be there for me in the end  
And I will do the right thing_" - 'I Will' by Brandie Carlile

**1977 - part 6**

A soft mechanical beep sounded in the background; a steady pulsing rhythm that became white noise to Myrtle as she stared at the blonde woman laying in the hospital bed. The woman was sleeping, her features drawn and unnaturally pale, an IV line ran from the inside of her elbow, and several wires snaked out from under her gown, monitoring her heart rate and blood pressure. Myrtle's fingers clasped the woman's hand tenderly and she smiled as the woman finally stirred from her slumber. Her eyes opened slowly, revealing piercing blue that reminded Myrtle of the gulf. To further the comparison, the sheared locks of hair were a sandy blonde, with a touch of soft glittering white, much like an untouched beach on a radiant sunny day.

"Que faites-vous ici?" the woman whispered in French squeezing Myrtle's hand with as much strength as she could muster.

"What do you mean what am I doing here? I'm not allowed to visit you?" Myrtle offered a smile, using her free hand to brush a few choppy strands of blonde hair from the woman's face to tuck it behind her ear.

"Myrtle, ma chèrie, you are always welcome to visit." The smile was returned with warmth but was interrupted with a coughing fit.

Once the woman had quieted, Myrtle patted her hand. "Isobel, I'm so sorry that you're still here," Myrtle said quietly. "I wish there was something I could do to help you get out of here."

"Oh goodness, don't worry about me. I take my little happy pills and sleep most of the time." Isobel frowned momentarily, the lines on her face seeming to accentuate her age under the ill lighting of the sparse room. She was only slightly older than her visitor, but being locked away for many months seemed to speed the aging process quite a bit. "I know I'm not crazy and that's all I care about." Her accent was heavy as she spoke the English words with practiced fluidity, but Myrtle would have understood her either way. The woman shifted in her bed, the restraints on her legs and arms not allowing her much freedom to move.

"Are your lungs getting better?" Myrtle scooted her chair closer to the bed, resting her elbows next to the woman's small body.

Isobel nodded, then squeezed Myrtle's fingers for a brief second. "How are the girls? Behaving?"

It was Myrtle's turn to nod. "Yes, they're all taking the history portion very seriously. Fiona is even helping prepare some of the reading assignments." The information slipped off her tongue without realizing the implications and Myrtle regretted it immediately when she saw the scowl on Isobel's face.

"She is a disgrace to the coven," Isobel shook her head. "I do not understand why you allow her to have any input with those young girls. Elle a un coeur sombre." Another headshake and she pulled at Myrtle's fingers. "She has a very, very dark heart," she repeated in English to reinforce her statement.

"Fiona is just...misunderstood." Myrtle dropped her gaze to her hands, threading her fingers with Isobel's. "She's pregnant, you know. When the baby is born she's moving away with Jackson to one of his homes in California and getting married." Speaking it aloud made it seem finalized, which made Myrtle feel even more tormented. She closed her eyes and brought her lips to the back of Isobel's restrained hand and then sat up. "I'll come visit you more often and see about getting you out of here before this infection lingers too long." Gaze locked on the woman's mesmerizing blue eyes, Myrtle sighed. "Are you sure you can't rid this from your body on your own? Or maybe I can find someone with a spell..."

"Non, ma chèrie." Isobel held her fingers tightly in her grasp. "We must be vigilant of our abilities and never use them when others could very well find out our true nature. It is not safe."

Knowing the older woman was right, Myrtle nodded solemnly, letting the helplessness settle in her stomach. Isobel had taught her so much about love, patience, her abilities, and how to both nurture and harness them. Carrying this into the school's curriculum, Myrtle always tried to visit Isobel when she could over the last several months. With Fiona's sudden reappearance, it was difficult to sneak away. Not that she would have forbid Myrtle from seeing her, but it was no secret that Isobel had severe distrust in the Supreme.

"And you should not trust Fiona for this reason. Not only does she use her abilities sloppily and selfishly, she is full of deceit and will only hurt you, my dearest Myrtle." Another impossibly strong squeeze of her fingers, and Isobel frowned while looking at the redhead. "There will be others, ma chérie. Just as I love you, there are others who will do the same, unconditionally. Fiona is not one of them, this I know and you do as well." With an assertive nod, the woman seemed to tire suddenly, her head languidly rolling to the side on her pillow as her eyes closed.

Myrtle said nothing, instead trying to swallow back the painful tears that she withheld. As much as Isobel was likely correct, she didn't want to admit it to herself. She felt _something_ with Fiona, something undefinable. One moment was full of hatred and the next of pure desire, but there was something else, too. Wanting to assure the older woman with whom she also felt a strong bond, Myrtle shifted closer to the bed. "I will be having Fiona sign off of the accounts. Only the council will have access soon. Just as you advised."

"Ah, very good. You're growing wise." Isobel's voice sounded drowsy, and her eyes were half-closed. "I'm sorry, I'm so tired..."

"Nonsense, Isobel. Sleep," Myrtle said quietly, leaning to kiss the woman's brow. "Doux rêves," she whispered a wish for sweet dreams against her cheek before leaving a soft kiss on her skin.

As the announcement sounded on the speakers that visiting hours were over, no one noticed a slightly unkempt lanky man ambling away from the partially opened door of Isobel's room.

* * *

Several days after visiting Isobel, Myrtle began to see an improvement with Fiona's mood. She began getting out of bed to get ready for the day, and even ventured out of Myrtle's room to the kitchen and the sitting room. Although she was uncharacteristically quiet, she seemed to be in more positive spirits, eating more and of course smoking outside whenever she had the chance. Myrtle had implored Fiona to stop smoking for the health of her baby, but knew the headstrong blonde would simply wait until she was out of sight before lighting up another cigarette. After showing Fiona the bank statements, Myrtle was surprised to find her agreeable to signing off of the account. She never apologized or admitted fault, but simply asked for a pen.

One early weekend morning while the girls were at the library to gather books for their research papers, Myrtle went upstairs to see if Fiona had woken up yet. It was not unusual for her to sleep in, now that she was carrying a baby. Shedding her bright red robe, Myrtle climbed into bed to curl her body against Fiona's, slipping an arm around her waist under the blankets. She knew there was still no visible proof, but she still relished in putting her palm on her stomach, trying to imagine what it would feel like to have life growing inside of her, knowing that she helped create another living being.

Myrtle nuzzled her nose into Fiona's hair, breathing in her scent. She wished that everything that essentially made Fiona was something she could easily resist, but she couldn't. In the back of her mind she couldn't help but feel that there would never come a time where Fiona felt the same about her as she did, but the rare moments when Myrtle ignored everything else in the world and Fiona appeared to do the same was enough of an illusion to make Myrtle feel complete. These silent moments before Fiona woke were Myrtle's stolen gems where she could pretend this was normal and right, not twisted and dark. She would try to concentrate to see if the baby had developed enough to telepathically communicate, just to see if they would carry on their mother's powers, but without the gift herself she was met with silence aside from Fiona's steady breathing.

"She can't hear you, you know that, right?" A soft voice startled Myrtle.

"You never know. Sorry if I woke you."

"It's alright. I'm used to hearing your mushy baby talk every morning. Pretty sure she can't, though." Fiona rolled onto her back, reaching to keep Myrtle's hand in place on her stomach.

"How do you know it's a she?" Myrtle propped herself up onto an elbow, looking to Fiona's stomach as she kept her palm flat against it.

"I don't. Just hoping..." Fiona trailed off, shrugging her shoulders. "Maybe instead of waking me up with that mindless babble every morning you can find a better way?" Using both hands, Fiona guided Myrtle's hand over her stomach and positioned her fingertips between her legs, leaving her palm resting on her pelvis. "I'm pregnant, not dead, you know."

"You're awful. And quit listening to my thoughts then if you don't like them." Even with the scolding, Myrtle relented and gave Fiona what she craved, circling her fingertips against her warm center through her nightgown. It had been a while since either of them initiated any type of intimacy, and Myrtle's heart felt light in a deviant way.

"Mm, not the dirty ones." Fiona groaned, pushing her hips up against Myrtle's hand.

Increasing the rhythm of her fingers against Fiona, Myrtle left open-mouthed kisses along the woman's neck and shoulder, pausing on her collarbone to suck at her skin. Using her teeth to bite against her flesh, Myrtle then snuck her hand beneath Fiona's clothing, her fingers finding refuge in her slippery core. Careful not to be too rough, she stroked her velvety insides, pushing her thumb against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Several minutes later, Fiona muffled a cry by crushing her mouth against Myrtle's lips, having pulled her head up to her with both hands snared in her red locks. The kiss was short as Fiona dropped her head back to catch her breath.

"C'mere," she said breathlessly, taking Myrtle's hands to tug her closer. "Lay down." Fiona pushed Myrtle gently so she was laying next to her, and then slipped her hand under her nightgown. She wasted no time and soon had two fingers inside of Myrtle, roughly pumping her hand back and forth.

Myrtle gripped Fiona's other arm as she leaned over her, and she fought to catch her breath. "Yes," she hissed loudly, eyes closing. Feeling Fiona's fingers hook inside of her abruptly and stop, Myrtle's back arched and she looked at her expectantly.

"Say that you're mine, Myrtle Snow." She dug her nails into the woman's wet fleshy insides for emphasis. Her eyes shot a fiery glare, and Myrtle swore that Fiona could have very well set her on fire with that look.

"I-I'm yours," she choked out, her breathing ragged. What the hell was wrong with her? It was a fleeting thought interrupted by Fiona's snapping voice.

"Say it again!" Nails dug deeper, and she pressed her thumb hard against her swollen mound.

"I'm fucking yours, Fiona!" She exclaimed, twisting her hips upward and against the blonde's hand, desperately seeking for her rhythmic touch to continue.

"Good girl." Fiona continued to thrust her fingers into her, and coaxed a shivering wave of pleasure from the redhead seconds later. Had Myrtle been able to keep her eyes open she would have seen a dark smirk cross Fiona's features as she watched Myrtle reach evanescent bliss.

* * *

**A/N: I apologize if I did not translate the French lines correctly! I tried my best. :)**


	10. 1978 - part 1

_"It's not the end of the world  
It's not even over but it will be soon  
I never learn my lessons, I just change my tune" - 'I Will' by Brandi Carlile_

**1978 - part 1**

Myrtle shook her head as she watched Fiona sneak yet another cigarette outside of the house in the last of the crisp winter air. Aside from looking ridiculous in her black dress with no coat to keep the chill at bay, she was also rather pregnant; her rounded belly protruded from her small frame. It was useless for Myrtle to constantly harp on the blonde about smoking since she always had another pack hidden, no matter how many Myrtle demanded from her to throw away.

She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about Fiona was different aside from the obvious physical attributes. The possibilities of what it could be swam in Myrtle's head like sharks searching for prey, feeding off of smaller theories. It could be Jackson's undying affection and his relentless pursuit of her. Quite a few times he whisked her to California on his family's private jet to help decorate her baby's room at his mansion, and to help plan their upcoming wedding. It may very well be the hormones surging through her body or perhaps she was finally maturing now that she would soon have a baby to look after. Whatever it was it caused her to be more docile toward Myrtle to the point where it was unnerving. She even seemed to be nicer to Spalding, her usual ordering barks replaced with polite requests and smiles. Even still, Myrtle accepted the welcome change with caution, hanging onto the delusion that everything was just fine in her strange little world. After all, it was perfectly normal to share a very attractive, very pregnant blonde with her equally attractive and very rich husband-to-be. It still made Myrtle's stomach turn when she realized that the house would soon lack Fiona's presence. She couldn't risk either of their reputations for her own feelings, and it nearly dragged her into a dark depression of helplessness when she would think about Fiona leaving once her baby was born.

But there was Isobel, her saving grace. The older woman was still locked away, deemed too eccentric to be amongst the general populace, but her health was improving, at least. Myrtle found herself growing more attached to Isobel, more for companionship than anything. She could discuss the academy's future with Isobel and receive sincere guidance and wisdom, as long as they did not settle on the topic of Fiona. Part of her felt guilty for sneaking out to visit Isobel when she could, and for not sharing this routine with Fiona, but she knew it was better this way. After all, did Fiona expect her to remain at home, desolate while she lived her life? Myrtle still had a fierce attraction to Fiona and it never waned, even when she started to feel closer to Isobel. The older woman was attractive in her own way with bold blue eyes and frosty hair shorn in spiky tufts, and yet Myrtle always envisioned Fiona when her mind wandered, focusing on the way her golden hair softly touched her shoulders and how her eyes darkened with excitement before stealing a kiss from Myrtle when they were alone. And her lips, Myrtle couldn't stand thinking about how they were perfectly shaped, almost as if they were always upturned and waiting to be kissed.

"Staring out the window like that makes you look like a creepy psycho, Myr." The unmistakable voice lilted in Myrtle's ear as Fiona approached her from behind with careful steps.

Startled, Myrtle turned from the window, clearing her throat and adjusting her glasses as she watched Fiona make waddling toward the sofa in the sitting room look like an effortless dance. "I was just making sure you didn't freeze to death out there. Someone has to watch out for you."

"Yes, someone does need to keep an eye on me, don't they?" Fiona smiled as she eased her body onto the sofa, letting Myrtle prop a pillow behind her to lean against. "Wouldn't want me to go around setting things on fire or worse." Shifting into a bearable position, Fiona clasped her hands on her round belly, and fixed her gaze on Myrtle. "Where were you this morning?"

Myrtle froze. She didn't realize that Fiona noticed she was absent for the short visit she paid to Isobel that morning. Silence was lingering too long, and Myrtle knew she was stuck. "I went to see a friend. You looked tired and I didn't want to wake you." As Spalding entered to set a tray with tea on the table in front of the sofa, Myrtle took the opportunity to change the subject. "Are the contractions any closer together?" Sitting beside Fiona on the sofa, she leaned forward to pour tea into the two glass cups.

Watching Myrtle with curiosity that bordered on suspicion, Fiona didn't answer immediately. She tilted her head to the side, trying to read her but Myrtle had kept her mind closed from intrusion, something she had practiced on a regular basis after finding out Fiona possessed telepathy as one of her powers. Letting the silence grow between them, Fiona watched for signs of discomfort from Myrtle. Finding none but seeing that Myrtle still would not look at her, Fiona finally spoke. "They're a little closer. I called the doctor and he said I should go to the hospital tonight. Jackson said he would pick me up in a few hours."

This information caused Myrtle to grin broadly as she handed Fiona a cup of tea. "This is so exciting! I'd like to be there, too, if you'll let me?" Relieved the subject was changed, Myrtle placed a hand on Fiona's stomach. She finally brought her gaze upward. "I won't be in the way, I promise."

Holding the tea in one hand, Fiona placed her hand over Myrtle's. "Don't be silly, you're definitely going to be there with me. Jackson might faint so I need all the help I can get." Squeezing Myrtle's fingers firmly, she gave another small smile. "You won't be in the way, not at all."

* * *

Sometime between the moon bowing out for the night and the sun lazily coming onto the stage, the point where it is so dark one cannot even see their hand in front of their face, a tiny baby girl entered the world. Healthy, judging by the hearty shriek she gave when making her appearance, the baby was removed from the delivery room to be inspected and cleaned before being given back to her mother in a swaddling cocoon of blankets.

Resting on the hospital bed, Fiona cradled the baby against her with a sense of strange familiarity. Jackson was sleeping in a vinyl reclining chair in the corner, snoring quietly. He had his driver take them to the hospital the prior evening, and had stayed with her the entire time, not questioning Fiona when Myrtle showed up just before the baby was born. He knew the two were good friends, almost like sisters from his point of view. Myrtle had left briefly, though, murmuring an excuse that she needed to get some food so that the two of them could spend time with the new arrival.

Fiona glanced upward from the sleeping baby when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Myrtle greeted her with a slight smile and a nod of her head as she walked into the room to sit in the chair next to Fiona's bed. She leaned over to peer at the baby with adoration. "What did you name her?" She whispered so as not to wake the baby or Jackson.

"Cordelia," Fiona whispered back. "She's so small. I feel like I might break her." Touching the baby's forehead with her fingertips, Fiona let out a soft sigh. "I love her, Myr. I really do." Looking to the redhead, she reached to grasp the woman's fingers in her free hand. "Thank you." It was simple, but it held so much more in meaning to Myrtle.

"She's beautiful," Myrtle paused, and whispered even more quietly. "Just like her mother."

Fiona smiled warmly at Myrtle, then linked their hands. Glancing to the baby, she pressed a kiss to her small cheek. "Say hello to your Auntie Myrtle, baby girl."

Myrtle's breath caught in her chest at the introduction and she felt tears pool in her eyes. They sat in silence, watching Cordelia sleep in her mother's arms, fingers entwined together but hidden against the side of Fiona's body.

* * *

Fiona's departure from the house was not as quick as Myrtle had anticipated. Jackson still had to finalize selling his house in New Orleans before they could travel home to California, so Myrtle had a few days with Fiona and Cordelia to herself. While Fiona slept quite a bit to rest, Myrtle would tend to Cordelia, having shortened class time with the students. They were all too happy to oblige, preferring to work on their research alone and not restricted to sitting in a classroom setting.

"I'm going to miss you, ma petit," Myrtle whispered to the sleeping baby as she placed her in her bassinet.

"We'll come back to visit," Fiona said quietly as she exited the bathroom. Wrapped in one of Myrtle's gaudy robes, she rubbed a towel over her hair to dry it from her shower. "Who else will teach her French?" The smile she gave was tight-lipped and brief.

Myrtle placed both hands on the edge of the bassinet, rocking it gently. Her attention rested on Cordelia's sleeping form. In just a few days she had fallen in love with the baby, almost wishing she had one of her own, and in just as many days the small bright spot in her life would be several states away. Sighing quietly, she glanced up to watch Fiona as she let the robe drop to the floor so she could get dressed. "I'll miss you both, Fiona," she said bravely as the blonde stepped into the closet to find something to wear. For having given birth just a few days ago Fiona seemed to be back to normal, her skin was radiant and she still had a little extra weight on her, but she was gorgeous in Myrtle's eyes.

"I know." There was no assurance that she would miss her, too, or any sadness in her tone. Fiona simply pulled on her clothes, and then busied herself at the dressing table with her makeup.

Realizing that Fiona was distancing herself, Myrtle halted the conversation. It was the same as last time; Fiona set up a hasty retreat so her feelings couldn't be hurt. Myrtle decided to do the same as sadness enveloped her heart. If the cold bitch wouldn't share her feelings, then she may as well try to distract herself from the pain. "Delia should sleep for a few hours. I need to run an errand, but I'll be back." As she walked past Fiona, Myrtle brushed her palm across the back of the woman's shoulders.

"You certainly will be, sooner rather than later," Fiona murmured darkly once Myrtle was out of hearing distance. She smirked at her reflection in the mirror, turning her head from side to side to admire her visage.


	11. 1978 - part 2

_"And I've been a fool and I've been blind  
I can never leave the past behind  
I can see no way, I can see no way  
I'm always dragging that horse around" _- 'Shake It Out' by Florence and the Machine

**1978 - part 2**

Footsteps echoed down the sterile hallway, harsh fluorescent lighting flickering and buzzing from the ceiling like irritated bees. Myrtle clutched a small bouquet of flowers to her chest, a heady mix of lavender and jasmine, trying to obscure them from view by the staff in the ward. She had managed to sneak small trinkets to Isobel on occasion with great care, but their stay was always short-lived as the staff of nurses and doctors were adamant of their "no outside gifts" policy. Still, Isobel basked in the sweet gestures, often urging Myrtle to lean close for a modest kiss upon her cheek. A faint smile crossed her lips as she neared Isobel's room.

On this particular visit, Myrtle was hoping to convince Isobel to petition for her release from the facility so she could perhaps move into the academy. Since Fiona would be leaving in a few days, the timing would be ideal. Myrtle wasn't sure she could handle another bout of being left to run the academy alone with the pressure of the council ever present. In addition, having Fiona in her bed each night to burrow her body against for warmth was a perk she had come to get used to and something she knew would leave a gaping abyss of emptiness. Isobel was a source of strength for her, though, as ironic as it may seem given her current location. Throughout her tumultuous past with Fiona, Isobel was a steadfast companion who gave Myrtle guidance and affection. The more Fiona spoke about her move to California and being happy with Jackson, the more Myrtle felt the pull toward Isobel's consistent friendship.

Arriving at Isobel's room, Myrtle's brow furrowed as she came to an abrupt stop. The room was empty aside from a freshly made hospital bed. Confusion etched onto her face, she backpedaled out of the room to check the number to the side of the door. It was the same number as it had been for the last several months. Letting out a quiet puff of air while shaking her head, Myrtle walked through the hallway again, searching for a staff member of the facility that could assist her. Reaching a small desk where a nurse sat hunched over several folders, Myrtle cleared her throat. "Pardon me, I'm looking for Isobel Rousseau. She was in room twelve the last time I visited. Was she moved?"

The young nurse, looking aged beyond her years due to lack of sleep as evident by the dark circles under her eyes, lifted her gaze to Myrtle. She stood from her chair and glanced down for a moment with nervousness. "I'm really sorry, ma'am. Ms. Rousseau passed away sometime between last evening and this morning."

Myrtle stared at the nurse, her lips parted in stunned silence. "I-I don't...understand," she stammered. "How? What happened to her? Her illness was gone..." Her arms suddenly felt like two bowling balls were attached to her wrists as they fell slack at her sides, leaving the small bundle of flowers dangling from her hand.

"Um, well, the doctor wasn't quite sure what happened," the nurse said quietly. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the line of questioning.

"What? That's _not _a good enough answer! What happened to her?!" Myrtle's voice raised, straining with frustration. She loomed closer to the girl, slamming the flowers on the desk. Petals spewed upward and floated to the ground like snowflakes.

Startled, the girl took half a step back. "Well...when we did the morning rounds...it looked like she had severely aged and just...passed away in her sleep. We've never seen anything like it." The nurse seemed apologetic, and unnerved by the whole ordeal. "It's like she skipped ahead a few decades in just a few hours. I can't...get the image out of my mind." As if remembering that she was possibly talking to a family member of the patient's, the nurse slowly shook her head while patting Myrtle on the shoulder. "I'm very sorry for your loss, I can get the doctor for you if you'd like."

Myrtle shook her head almost imperceptibly, waving the young girl off. Once the nurse was out of sight, Myrtle swiped her hand across the desk, sending the flowers scattering onto the floor along with several medical files. She steeled herself against the desk, red nails digging into the wood as her body heaved with deep breaths. If there was ever a time in her life that she couldn't breathe, this was most definitely it. The tears would not fall nor would the sobs escape her lungs. Myrtle was paralyzed by grief and it dug into her chest and settled there like a large boulder. Drawing in a sharp gasp, both hands latched onto the edge of the desk with ferocity and she nearly fell to her knees as realization struck her belatedly. Lifting her head to look at the nothingness that matched her soul, Myrtle took on an air of quiet fury. "Fiona," she growled, eyes darkening to the colors of a tornado-filled sky.

* * *

Fiona adjusted the hem of her knee-length black dress as she sat at the kitchen table, the ever present cigarette balanced between two slender fingers. She held the smoldering item to her lips for a moment, then blew the smoke out slowly as she watched Spalding wash the dishes from the meal he had prepared for the girls. "You may want to retreat to wherever it is that you go. Myr's probably gonna pitch a bitch fit when she gets back. My guess is a good five minutes of screaming like a banshee, and then she'll calm down." Chuckling, she took another drag of the cigarette. "She'll thank me later, I'm sure of it." Not really expecting any sort of response from Spalding, Fiona continued to smoke as he eventually exited the kitchen once his task was complete. He hardly acknowledged her with a glance, but she was used to it by now. His proclamation of love many years ago was one she never gave a second thought to, and likely never would based on her track record with men. They were replaceable in her mind.

Hearing the front door open, Fiona straightened on the chair and stubbed the cigarette into the ash tray in front of her.

"Fiona!" The bellow bounced off the walls.

With a mask of indifference, the blonde crossed one leg over the other at the knee, and shifted in her seat to face the entryway of the kitchen. "Yes, darling?" Her voice was laced with an imitation of sweetness and the slightest hint of arrogance.

Honing in on the source of the voice, Myrtle stormed into the kitchen, her red hair flowing behind her like the flames of an angry torch. She thrust her hand upward once, chopping the air, and sent Fiona flying out of her seat and across the room into the wall behind the table. Taking several fierce steps toward Fiona's crumpled form, she dropped to her knees, wrapping her hands around her neck tightly. "You get out of this goddamn house and don't _ever_ come back, you horrid soulless bitch!" Myrtle squeezed Fiona's throat and thrashed her body for each word she spoke.

Fiona was too stunned to react initially, having never expected this behavior from Myrtle. She was always the reserved one; the one who fought with words rather than action. Her hands lifted to soothe her throat once Myrtle released her, but she remained on the ground, cowered against the wall while Myrtle stood. The redhead was shaking with anger and breathing heavily, that much Fiona expected, but not a physical attack. Hands still protectively around her throat, Fiona rose from the floor slowly. "Can I at least get my daughter?"

"Yes, and then _leave_." Myrtle kept her gaze on Fiona the whole time, glaring with enough intensity to bring a flush of red to Fiona's cheeks. There were so many things Myrtle wanted to say but couldn't for fear of breaking down in front of Fiona and losing her credibility.

Her chest still heaving, Myrtle grabbed the back of a chair and watched as Fiona left the kitchen rather timidly. She heard her footsteps echo throughout the hallways and up the stairs, and then back down within a few minutes. Hearing the footsteps stop at the kitchen, Myrtle didn't bother to lift her head from staring at the table. Fiona stood in the doorway with a sleeping Cordelia in her arms, bundled in a blanket. "Myrtle, I-..."

"Get out." Myrtle's voice was low and cold. It held the stamp of finality.

Rebuffed once again, Fiona looked down at Cordelia and let out a sigh. Her head was starting to throb from the meeting of her skull and plaster, and she didn't feel like putting up a fight. "Alright, fine," was her simple reply. Turning from the kitchen, Fiona strode down the hall to the front door. It opened without her touch, and then slammed behind her just the same.

As soon as Myrtle heard the door slam, she faltered and crumbled. A drawn out cry escaped her lips and she slid to the floor, clinging to the kitchen chair. She pressed her face against the wood, tears cascading down her cheeks as she pounded a fist on the floor repeatedly.

Her crying morphed into desolate sobs, which drew attention from some of the girls. They came into the kitchen to crouch next to her to see if she was injured, and began whispering amongst themselves. While they tried to console her for her unknown anguish, Myrtle could do nothing more than sob helplessly in their arms.


	12. 2013 - part 1

**A/N: Here is the part where I insist you read LadyNobleSong's lovely fic 'You And I, We're Burning Slow' [it won't let me post the link here] since it inspired me to write this one and explains how Fiona came to leave Cordelia in Myrtle's care, which is AU from the show (but then again, so is my fic, hah). And you should read it just because she's a lovely person! :)**

"_Regrets collect like old friends_  
_ Here to relive your darkest moments_  
_ I can see no way, I can see no way_  
_ And all of the ghouls come out to play" -_ 'Shake It Out by Florence and the Machine_  
_

**2013 - part 1**

It had been decades since Myrtle had laid eyes on Fiona, although that was not an entirely accurate statement in her mind. Every day that she saw Cordelia Goode as she grew from an infant, to child, to teenager, and then to a young woman, Myrtle was plagued with the reminder of the time she spent with Fiona and in tandem the unwarranted act of Isobel's death. For years her heart and mind battled for her soul's peace. Myrtle could never find it within herself to forgive Fiona for what she had done, and yet she could never release the attachment she felt toward her either. Even as Fiona came crawling back to her in the middle of the night in the pouring rain thirty something years ago to beg for Cordelia's safety and upbringing, Myrtle's resolve couldn't resist stealing a kiss from the vixen as she took the infant under her wing. They didn't speak of anything else as Fiona clearly had other places to be, and Myrtle was definitely not close to finding forgiveness in her heart yet.

Myrtle never spoke negatively of Fiona in front of Cordelia, and always made an effort to encourage the young girl to write letters to let her mother know how she was doing throughout the years. Occasionally, Fiona would visit her daughter or send for her to come home for a short vacation, but Myrtle kept her distance. It grew easier as Cordelia became a young adult as Myrtle did not have to orchestrate anything between the two, although she sensed Cordelia's growing distrust toward her mother. Still, Myrtle felt those few decades with Cordelia were a blessing in disguise. Myrtle was able to take care of a sweet natured girl with a passion for potions, and the emptiness she had felt when Fiona would leave was full with Cordelia's adoration.

After passing along the stewardship of the academy to Cordelia so she could take over as the headmistress, Myrtle took up her post on the Council. Cordelia was more than capable, albeit a little timid at times, but Myrtle had complete faith in the young woman. She assured Cordelia that she would not be more than a phone call away if she ever needed her help. The number of students had dwindled alarmingly so, but Myrtle did what she could to encourage young witches to take up safe haven in their coven. It was difficult to do nowadays with most of the young girls hiding their true nature. Aside from the faint recruiting for the academy, Myrtle traveled, taking Isobel's sage advice to experience as much as she could in her life. Paris, Milan, Egypt, Austrailia, Japan, and even South Africa. She loved absorbing the different cultures and people, and trying to see if she could pinpoint various coven locations. Every passport stamp was her personal seal of growth and knowledge. With each location, she added another layer to herself until the whirlwind traveling tired her to the point of returning back to the States so she could be close by if Cordelia needed her assistance.

Myrtle was proud of Cordelia, despite the small number of students in her care. She hardly called on Myrtle except for a few short conversations on the phone and meetings to simply chat over a cup of tea. It came as a surprise to Myrtle when the young witch, Nan, contacted the Council. Myrtle would have never expected Fiona to be there. The last she had heard from Cordelia was that her mother was traveling to Switzerland, so when the elegantly aged and very well-dressed Fiona made her appearance in the Ancestors Room, Myrtle had to dig deep within herself to remain composed. Her initial reaction was to embrace her, but with Quentin and Cecily standing nearby, it would have been awkward. Fiona's lightly shielded compliment on Myrtle having found a sense of style when "no one was looking" stirred the feelings of warmth within her again, nearly brushing away the bitterness.

As the council's questioning and investigation pressed on, though, Myrtle grew angry and frustrated. Clearly, Fiona was behind something and had been for all these years, while Myrtle was left with little to show for the brief partnership. The snide remarks and nonchalant attitude from Fiona was steadily bringing her blood to a boiling point. Seeing that things were going nowhere, Myrtle caused a scene, accusing Fiona of all wrongdoing; from Anna Leigh's death to Madison's disappearance. In an odd way she felt empowered with the other Council members with her, surely they would take her side, she thought. When Splading wrote her name instead of Fiona's name on the slip of paper, that was the last straw. In her mind, at the moment where Fiona could have put the entire thing to rest and didn't, Myrtle wrote Fiona off as a vindictive bitch, selfish to the core to suit her own needs. Cecily and Quentin, clearly uncomfortable with the entire outburst, excused themselves for the night. The Council would resume the next day after a bit of a break, they claimed. Fiona sauntered out of the room with a smirk, leaving Cordelia and Myrtle in the room together. Cordelia was torn between her devotion to Myrtle and her blood relation to her mother. She didn't know who she could believe anymore. Crouching in front of Myrtle who sat dejectedly in the chair Fiona had previously occupied, Cordelia took the woman's hands into her own.

"Auntie Myrtle, I'm so sorry. I don't know who to believe, but I don't want to think my mother would do something like this. She came back to help the coven."

Myrtle shook her head, exhausted from the overpowering emotions coursing through her body the last few days. Head hanging down, her wavy red hair fell forward to curtain her face. "I'm not so convinced, my darling Delia. Your mother...she has done things in the past that I simply cannot forgive."

"Like what? You surely don't believe she killed the last Supreme?" Cordelia's smooth forehead furrowed with concern, and she squeezed Myrtle's hands firmly in her own. "What did she do?"

"It doesn't matter, Delia. I shouldn't be telling you such things. I have no concrete evidence, and I don't want to pit you against your own mother." Myrtle let out a heavy sigh, her gaze remaining on their clasped hands.

"I understand..." Relenting and allowing Myrtle to withhold the information, Cordelia gave a final squeeze to the woman's hands, and then stood. "I'm going to make some tea. You're more than welcome to stay."

Raising her attention to Cordelia as she stood from the chair, Myrtle shook her head. "No, darling, I need to get some rest. Perhaps another time, though." Taking Cordelia into her arms for a quick embrace, Myrtle watched as the young woman exited the room. Turning to the table to gather her things, Myrtle felt her stomach sink as she caught the faint trace of cigarette smoke a moment later.

"I have nothing to say to you, Fiona." Myrtle turned to face the blonde who stood a few feet away in the doorway, propped up against the door frame by her shoulder as she smoked.

"Good. I've heard enough of your lunatic ramblings for the night. What the hell are you doing, anyway? Don't you remember our pact?"

"Our pact?! I'm sorry, did you suffer from memory loss from all of the botox and alcohol you've consumed the last three decades?" Myrtle advanced toward Fiona, fury starting to bubble up within her again. "You _murdered_ Isobel and expect me to stand by and take this bullshit with Spalding accusing me for his tongue mishap? For me to let you get away with everything?!" Nearly stabbing her index finger into Fiona's chest, Myrtle lowered her voice. "I will bring you down, Fiona, if it's the last thing I do."

Eyebrows arched at Myrtle's comments, Fiona took a drag from her cigarette languidly before replying. "A promise is a promise, Myrtle. Besides, I'm dying. The least you could do is try and help me save this goddamn coven from burning to the ground."

One of the words pricked Myrtle's guilt and she lowered her hand. Her mouth remained agape momentarily. "Dying? What...?"

"I have cancer." Fiona shrugged and continued to smoke, the irony of the situation escaping her. She would likely take advantage of any unhealthy vice anyway, figuring that enjoying life through the very end would be how she would leave this world.

"Oh, Fiona..." It was as if the last several decades never happened as Myrtle melted against Fiona's body, both arms encircling her svelte waist.

"I'm dying, and _now _all of the sudden you believe me?" With a scoff, Fiona blew out the last of the smoke from her mouth and wrapped an arm around Myrtle's shoulders, keeping the cigarette a respectable distance away with her other arm. Fighting the urge to show any semblance of emotion, Fiona felt worn down by Myrtle's comforting embrace. "Well, shit...I never had the chance to tell you, but I'm sorry about Isobel, Myrtle. I thought she was behind all of the money disappearing. I thought you'd find that out afterward."

With teary eyes, Myrtle pulled away while leaving her hands on Fiona's upper arms. She shook her head a few times. "No, it wasn't her...even after she passed away a few more large sums were withdrawn. I just assumed the Council sent it to you."

The cigarette smoke spiraled upward between the women as Fiona held it at her hip, meeting Myrtle's gaze. "All these years and you still think it was me. Jesus." She twisted her upper body out of Myrtle's hands and walked to the table to put the cigarette out in the ash tray. "I only signed the damn paperwork because I figured Isobel and her looney tunes ass found a way to get to the money."

"Is your motto kill first, ask questions later?"

"Well, it's certainly less taxing on my health." Fiona rested against the table, arms crossing over her chest.

Shaking her head with disappointment, Myrtle started toward the doorway again. "You'll never change, Fiona, but you won't get your way in the end. That much I know." She paused before leaving, looking at Fiona with sincere sadness. "I am truly sorry to hear about your health. Take care of yourself."

Fiona stared at the doorway long after Myrtle had left, mulling over their conversation. It wasn't Isobel, and it surely wasn't herself, but the money had gone somewhere. The urge to drink was stronger than ever, so she sought out Cordelia to see if she would join her for drinks at the bar. Maybe alcohol and some inquiring as to who the next Supreme might be would make her feel better and help her forget about the sadness in Myrtle's eyes. Maybe.


	13. 2013 - part 2

**A/N: Takes place after Cordelia is blinded by acid and before Myrtle is burned at the stake in the episode "Burn, Witch. Burn!"**

_"But now I have finally seen the end (finally seen the end)  
And I'm not expecting you to care (expecting you to care)  
But I have finally seen the light (finally seen the light)  
I have finally realized (realized)  
I need to love" - 'Madness' by Muse_

**2013 - part 2**

It had been raining nearly the entire day. Clouds took permanent residence in the sky ever since daybreak without the sun showing itself. It was supposed to blow through; at least that's what the news reporter mentioned on the droning television. Myrtle Snow sat rigid in the uncomfortable hotel room chair, her body protesting the dried vinyl seat and rickety wooden legs. She just wanted to be able to feel everything in these last few hours. Her clothing matching her mood; a dark gray plaid shawl hugged her shoulders, making her emblazoned red hair stand out that much more.

Sometimes life took twists and turns that even she could not predict, but she never would have imagined it would come to this, a certain death by a former lover's hand. Where had she erred along this journey? Had she neglected to abide by Fiona's bidding all of these years, she likely would have been the very enemy she portrayed in the company of others. It was a lose-lose scenario, and one that Myrtle had no answers to even as she scoured the large book in front of her but all it offered were disconnected words.

It was a last request, to be allowed to come back to her room to finalize some paperwork and change her clothes. The latter she had postponed as it made it seem all the more complete. Sitting there brooding and inhaling the musky aroma of tea, she lifted her cup to take a sip, and then set it down next to the large book she was reading. A sharp knock resounded in the room.

Hearing it, she was grateful that she had already set the cup on the table as the noise startled her into jumping slightly. A bookmark was set on the page, and she rose from her place. Peering out the peephole, she sighed audibly. Slender fingers undid the locks and pulled the door open part of the way. Myrtle glared defiantly at her visitor.

"Glad you finally figured out after all these years what an umbrella is used for; it ought to keep you dry since I'm not letting you inside."

"Jesus Christ, Myrtle, don't start that shit with me again. I'll toss your ass out of the way if I have to," Fiona stated as she began to close her umbrella, fully expecting to be let into the room.

"I didn't do it, Fiona. It wasn't me, I would never hurt Cordelia in a million years. Until you believe that, I'd much rather not speak with you. Go back home." Her voice lowered threateningly, and Myrtle began to shut the hotel door. Fiona stuck the closed umbrella out to prevent it from closing as the rain began to flatten her normally voluminous blonde locks, but she didn't seem to mind. Myrtle figured she was likely drunk, although she didn't appear to be swaying or slurring her words.

Fiona took a step forward, using the umbrella as leverage to keep the door propped open. "Remember that weekend we went to Biloxi before Delia was born? The picture from the photo booth on the pier? You were so damn annoyed..."

"With you, yes," Myrtle interrupted.

Fiona grimaced at being cut off, but continued. "Yes, you were annoyed with me as usual. That goddamn picture...I still have it." She paused, wiping the back of her hand under her nose. "I'be been looking at it often these past few days, especially the one where I just...laid one on ya." Snickering quietly, she leaned against the door frame and stared at her feet briefly. "You just..." Her eyes shifted as she stopped again, almost seeing the images from that day. "That plaid bikini was quite becoming on you, and you kept getting pissed off at guys asking for my number constantly even though I was very much pregnant." Shaking her head, a few water droplets rolled off her bangs into her eyes. She lifted her gaze to Myrtle. "You said you wanted the evidence burned, but I kept it. I was looking at it earlier..."

"So? Is that supposed to make it easier for me to burn alive? Knowing that you'll hold the picture tonight and cry because you won't have someone to try and seduce again?" Myrtle continued to glare at the now soaked blonde in front of her through her thick cat-eye frames.

"I know you didn't do it, you bitch. I know how you feel about me...thinking back to that day." With an awkward pause after her revelation and now feeling that she had put her emotions on display, Fiona sighed heavily. "That's why I came here. God knows I wouldn't set foot in this palace for fleas otherwise." Casting a condescending gaze around the edge of the door, Fiona brought a hand up to brush some of the rain from her hair. "You weren't jealous that they weren't asking for your number. You just didn't want them to have _my _number. And that night, when we stayed at the hotel, it wasn't just _me_ that blew the light bulbs… That's what made me realize what we've been doing was...more to you. I know what your feelings are now, and I'm…sorry for everything I ever did to you." The very words she uttered were on an unconscious list of things Fiona vowed never to say, but it was different with Myrtle she reasoned. Myrtle was her equal and opposite all in one abstract mixture.

With obvious hesitation Myrtle pulled the door open and gestured for her to enter. Fiona nodded and then stepped inside. The photos were still plastered on the wall, but she noticed the ones with red markings were gone. The door now locked, Myrtle stood with her arms crossed. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting company since I'm going to die later today, but I'm sure the instant coffee isn't expired by too many years." Deflection. She had used it before to protect herself, and she felt the need to use it again. Myrtle chose not to respond to Fiona's confession aside from allowing her to invade her personal space during her last few precious hours alone.

Tossing the umbrella onto Myrtle's bed, Fiona crossed the small room to the bathroom. She emerged into the room again a moment later drying her hair with an overly starched white towel that smelled of excessive bleaching. "I still think you should have told me you needed a room when you got into town, even though we weren't on the best terms. You could have stayed with me, or I could have reserved something better than this shit hole," Fiona all but choked the words out in disgust as she glanced around the tight quarters.

Convinced that her hair was as dry as it was going to get, Fiona tossed the towel onto the bed, saving a mental note to take a long hot shower once she got home. It was obvious that Myrtle was still silently fuming, so Fiona continued. "Look, whatever happens, you need to trust me."

"Trust you? _Trust_ _you_?! Are you mad?! You're sending me to the stake! To burn!" Enraged, Myrtle took a menacing step toward the woman, uncrossing her arms to point at her with a disfigured finger. "You wrongly accused me and handed down judgment without any regard for the truth! After all I've done for you, Fiona!" Her voice cracked and she brought both hands to her face as a sob shook her body. "After everything...I've done," she repeated in a faltering voice.

Closing the distance between them, Fiona drew the redhead into her arms, guiding her head to her shoulder as she thread her fingers into her wavy hair, her other hand stroking her back. "Myrtle, please," her voice had softened, a rare occurrence that no one aside from Myrtle was ever privileged to observe. "I will find out who did this to you. To _us_. But you need to do this. It's going to hurt me more than you know, but it's the only way." Pulling Myrtle's head from her shoulder, Fiona forced her to look into her dark eyes. "You're going into the flames, but it won't be in vain, and it will not be permanent. Trust me." Their gazes were locked for several seconds. With Myrtle no longer sniffling, Fiona let her fingertips dance in the fiery red strands and then slid her hands downward so her thumbs could brush over Myrtle's tear-stained lips. "They will reveal themselves once they see you're no longer around. They wouldn't have gone through all of this otherwise." She tilted her head toward the patchwork of photos on the wall.

Myrtle closed her eyes, yielding to the woman and letting her anger fade like a dying candle. For far too long she had cleaned up after Fiona, and now it was time for her to provide her soul; the very contract she had bound herself to many decades ago was now due. She had no choice but to place her unconditional trust in this woman. "Stay with me until we have to go?" Her voice was quiet and pleading, her eyes matching the intensity of the plea. Myrtle pressed her lips against Fiona's thumbs, reaching up to take both hands so she could press a kiss to the tops of her knuckles.

With a quick nod of her head, Fiona grasped Myrtle's hands in her own and pulled her toward the bed. It gave a sad lonely squeak as they sat at the edge of the bed next to each other. "Whoever it is will rue the day they decided to fuck with me," Fiona stated with confidence.

If she had been planning on speaking more it was silenced by Myrtle's lips pressing against her own fully. Instead of the usual feverish kisses they had shared in the past it was sensual and almost reverent. Fiona tilted her head, allowing Myrtle to take the lead; she owed her at least that much.

Entwining her fingers in now straightened blonde locks, Myrtle held Fiona's head steady as she kept her mouth sealed over hers, never deepening the kiss, as she seemed content to feel her warm lips on her own. Just as suddenly, Myrtle pulled back, hands still buried in Fiona's hair. "Do you have the picture with you?"

Fiona shook her head although not so much as to dispose of Myrtle's hands. "It's hidden in my room at the house."

At first she appeared disappointed but then she smiled briefly. "I'm glad you didn't burn it." Myrtle's voice was tinged with sadness. "I'm not surprised since you never did listen to me." Another faint smile crossed her features and she cupped Fiona's chin in her hands. "Make sure they don't screw up my hair if this works."

Smirking, Fiona glanced down then took hold of Myrtle's hands so she could squeeze them reassuringly while they held her face. "It will work. I promise. I'm glad I was lucky enough to know it wasn't dyed." She raised her eyebrows suggestively and then turned her head to kiss Myrtle's fingertips.

"You're something else, Fiona. I'm about to be burned and you're still the same dirty hussy," Myrtle chided her facetiously with a shake of her head.

"Oh c'mon, I didn't say which hair or where...you're the dirty one, Miss Myrtle. It's like they say, always watch out for those quiet ones." She chuckled and drew the woman's hands from her face to hold them in her lap. "We should go. Pembroke's likely having a stroke since she's a stickler for time. Her life is probably as exciting as watching paint dry. If I was the gambling type I'd bet it was her...probably jealous of your fashion sense. I know Coco Channel said 'fashion is made to become unfashionable,' but goddamn, she never even tries."

Fiona caught a slight smirk on the woman's lips, but it was gone all too quickly. Myrtle gave a sharp nod, forcing a facade of strength as she stood from the bed, pulling Fiona up with her. She was about to turn to walk toward the bathroom when her hands were tugged, nearly causing her to stumble.

Fiona leaned toward her for an embrace, wrapping both arms around Myrtle's waist. "I'd say good luck but I know you're more powerful than luck. Not as powerful as me, though."

Shaking her head, Myrtle hugged her back, squeezing her shoulders tightly with both arms. "You have no shame. Maybe I'll just stay dead and leave you to live a more miserable life."

"You better not, you wretched bitch." Feigning offense, Fiona pulled away then slapped a palm on Myrtle's rear end as the woman began to walk toward the bathroom.

Standing in the smaller adjoining room, Myrtle stripped her clothing off, letting the items tumble to the floor around her feet.

Fiona stood nearby, watching as milky white flesh was revealed. Despite Myrtle's age, time had been most kind to her; alabaster skin was hardly touched with a wrinkle, and she was just as slender as she had been the first time Fiona saw her without clothing. Fiona's fingers clenched the umbrella as she chewed the inside of her lip. Myrtle looked so exposed, removing even her undergarments so that she was completely nude. Fiona drew in a shuddering breath, again realizing what the other woman had felt for her all these years, and felt a pang of guilt for having wasted so many years without her in her life. Taking a few steps, she entered the small space next to Myrtle. The umbrella was placed on the counter and Fiona took the simple white dress from the hanger that hung from the shower curtain rod. Standing in her bare skin without an ounce of shame, Myrtle stuck her arms out as Fiona helped her pull the gown over her body.

Always the expert at suppressing her emotions, Fiona was slowly crumbling, but managed a slight smile. "You're beautiful," she said in a quiet voice. Their gazes locked and Fiona delicately raked her fingertips through Myrtle's hair, tucking several strands behind the woman's ear. Her hand rested on her cheek for a moment before lifting to remove Myrtle's glasses. "I'll keep these safe for you."

"Don't lick them this time, you'll scratch the lenses."

Fiona let a hint of a smile appear on her lips, folding the glasses so one of the arms could slip down the collar of her dress and remain hooked there.

"Oh, and…Delia. My sweet Delia," Myrtle sighed the words as she rested her hands heavily on Fiona's shoulders. "Take care of her, please. It's never too late to be her mother. She needs you more than ever now. You need to take care of yourself for her, too."

Fiona's gaze dropped downward, shame crossing her features. Her jaw clenched and she nodded with her eyes closed. After a quiet moment in thought, she fixed her eyes on Myrtle. "I will try - for you. Even though, she hates the goddamn sight of me. No pun intended."

Myrtle let out an exasperated breath, pulling her hands from Fiona's shoulders. "She doesn't hate you, Fiona. She truly needs you. Please, just be there for her."

"Like I said, I'll try. Are you ready?"

"Always one to ask such pertinent questions. Let's get this over with." Myrtle shook her head with slight irritation, but kept her chin lifted high. She pushed past Fiona as the woman took her hand to follow her out of the room.

Upon exiting, their hands separated from their gentle grasp as the muggy air met them. They paused as if their breath had been sucked out of their lungs. The rain had stopped, but the sun remained hidden just enough to create a bright overcast. Myrtle observed the lack of rain as an onslaught of emotion pummeled her insides. No rain meant a fire would be lit soon.


	14. 2013 - part 3

**A/N: Still rather AU, but takes place at the end of 'The Dead' - minus the Axeman. [don't hate me; I actually adore that scene with them!]**

_"Come to me_  
_ Just in a dream._  
_ Come on and rescue me._  
_ Yes I know, I can be wrong,_  
_ Maybe I'm too headstrong._  
_ Our love is_  
_ Madness" -_ 'Madness' by Muse

**2013 - part 3**

Fiona's stomach emptied its contents once again. Bent at the waist with both hands on the wall, she was balanced rather gracefully above the toilet for such a revolting act. A shuddering hand pressed the lever to clean the bowl and the other slammed the lid down before she stumbled to the sink to wash her hands and rinse her mouth with water from her cupped hands. The first time she retched was several minutes after witnessing the flames encompass Myrtle into their raging embrace. Fiona had stalked away to seclude herself from the others, giving the impression of utter boredom; that she couldn't be bothered with watching the entire ordeal. Hiding behind a few large trees she had felt the bile rise in her throat, and took great pains to make sure her shoes weren't caught in the crossfire. Being honest with herself, she couldn't bear to watch _her _Myrtle suffer such a fate, especially without knowing for certain how the rest of this scenario would play out for them. The very thought had made her sick to her stomach, and continued to do so several times over the last few days. Merely recalling the unnerving shrieking was enough to send Fiona dashing into the bathroom.

Drying her face with a clean plush hand towel, Fiona then gripped the edge of the sink, leaning forward. She couldn't tell if the first onslaught of the chemotherapy drugs were starting to wreak havoc on her body or if it was purely psychosomatic. It could very well be a combination of both. The emotions Fiona had been feeling over the last few days were unnatural. She actually felt _guilty_. The feelings of failure and helplessness were up there, too. Falling to her knees slowly, Fiona pressed her forehead against the tops of her hands that still gripped the sink. Her shoulders began to shake, sobs muffled into her hands as she cried.

Cordelia didn't seem to want her pity, help, or care. And Myrtle was gone. The oft quoted line that you didn't know what you had until it was gone never rang so true for Fiona as it did now. The feelings she had for Myrtle were not easily categorized, but the hollow emptiness of her insides supported that she felt _something _for the woman. It had been difficult for Fiona to wrestle with the fact that she was not immortal and that her death was imminent with no thanks to her failed blood cells. Death had a funny way of making people think about what truly mattered, and _who_ truly mattered. Myrtle mattered to her. The pale, slender, wild-haired redhead with a unique sense of style and a fiery attitude mattered to Fiona. She cursed between her quiet sobs, regretting the lost opportunity and the possible incorrect decisions she had made thus far in her life. What if the plan didn't even work and Myrtle was not meant to be brought back? So much bitterness and misdiagnosed suspicion between the two didn't seem worth it after all. As the sobs ceased into sniffles, Fiona wiped her face once more with the towel, and pulled herself to her feet. If she couldn't bring Myrtle back, then she would at least get to the bottom of this puzzle with her daughter's attack and the missing funds. She knew just the person to enlist in her endeavor.

Tightening the silky black robe's sash around her waist, Fiona left her bedroom to make her way through the silent hallways of the academy. It was silent as it could be for the middle of the night. As she passed by Cordelia's room, she paused briefly, contemplating a quick peek through the doorway to check on her daughter. Knowing it was safe since Hank was no longer welcome there, much to her great relief, she twisted the door knob as quietly as she could manage. The room was pitch black, and she heard Cordelia's even breathing indicating she was at least resting peacefully. A slight smile crossed Fiona's lips and she shut the door. Despite Cordelia rejecting her mother's attempt at reconciling while she was awake, Fiona felt oddly triumphant that she could steal these small moments with her daughter oblivious in her slumber.

Her mission resumed, and Fiona soon stopped at the door leading to the attic. It was a place she considered off limits, and very much beneath her status as Supreme. But she was determined to succeed with her plan, and appearances took a backseat to her end result. The door was unlocked, which she found unusually trusting of Spalding. Climbing the steps, she was overcome with a rancid smell half-masked by an antibacterial spray that made her gag. Fiona clamped her palm over her nose and mouth as she ascended the rest of the staircase of the dimly lit attic. It had been decades since she was in this part of the house, and it looked the same with the exception of the collection of dolls that lined the walls. Spalding had always been quite an outsider, so it didn't bother Fiona in the least. The smell, however, was offensive and gave her the urge to retch yet again. She managed to keep it together somehow, and reached Spalding's bed where she saw his frame resting.

Closer inspection showed that he was not exactly sleeping. Something resembling a knife protruded from his chest with blood starting to clot in a sticky mess. A swollen tongue was gruesomely propped upon his lips. Momentarily taken aback at the sight, Fiona started to turn away, but then stopped when she saw a bloodied piece of paper clutched loosely in his hand. She noted that his other hand was bound to his bed with narrow ties. The other set of ties looked frayed. With one hand still covering her nose and mouth, she used her free hand to pull the paper free and read the haphazard scrawled writing.

"_The weakling is not so weak. Before stabbing me Zoe made me speak the truth but not all truths. Fiona I loved you so many years ago. But you did not love me. I accepted it and always felt the smallest hope even when you brought different men home. It meant I still had a chance as a man. When I came across you and Myrtle Snow in her bed and heard you told her you were falling in love with her...I no longer had a chance. I hated her for that. For having what I could never have. I cut out my tongue for you and devoted my life to you and you repay me by wrongfully lusting after a damn woman. I took the money first to try and destroy what you two had. It didn't work so I took more so I could desert this coven and live a peaceful life. No one would ever hire a mute. Finally you and I were successful in making her hate you and I thought I'd have a chance again but then she came back to question you about Madison and I could tell by the way you stared at each other that those feelings were still there. It was easy to convince you that she blinded Cordelia after I figured out where she was staying. Myrtle Snow deserved to burn and I'm glad for my part..." _

The letter abruptly ended with the letter 't' trailing across the bottom of the page. Fiona drew in sharp breaths as she read the long-winded letter, her brow knit together with concentration as she tried to make sense of everything. Spalding had done all of this to her? It didn't make sense. She re-read the letter once again, scowling. Her anger was increasing with each sloppy word that she read on the paper. He had done this. Breathing heavily into her hand, the other hand dropped to her side, crumbling the paper into her fist. No longer concerned about the repulsive smell, she gripped the handle that stuck out of Spalding's chest and wrenched it in further. Sick squelching noises met her ears. "You sick...son of a bitch... You goddamn monster! I hope you burn for all of eternity!" The anger inside was not satisfied. Fiona pulled the knife from his chest and brought it back down to stab the rigid body several times, letting out angry shouts. "You bastard!" Weakened from exhaustion, she plunged the knife into his throat with finality, and sunk to her knees on the floor.

"How could I have been so blind? So stupid?!" Sticky blood coated her fingers, which smeared over her forehead as she pushed her hands into her hair, covering her eyes with her palms. A few tears spilled out of the corner of her eyes and she wiped them away angrily. The stench of blood and whatever else was lurking in the room became too much for her, and she rose to her feet with the crumpled paper in her hand. A sneer was directed at the body. "You're lucky that little witch girl got you first. You would have suffered more than any poor soul on the planet if I had found out what you did to me..." Fiona craved more release for her anger, but her body protested. She needed to rest.

Quiet footsteps carried her down the steps from the attic and she had to focus to shut the door without her hands, lest she leave bloody hand prints everywhere. Back in the safety of her own room, Fiona filled her tub with warm water and eased her weary body into the soothing liquid to wash away the blood and her guilt. The water turned a muted red, but the guilt hung over her like a guillotine. Myrtle was right; she wasn't going to get her way in the end and it was all because of Spalding's twisted sense of what love could and should be, and because of her own inability to see the truth of his betrayal and her feelings for Myrtle. Those feelings were not unnatural nor were they wrong. Being with Myrtle had always felt right; more right than any of the slobbering uncouth men she had bedded in the past. Myrtle was honest and giving, and incredibly alluring in her own way. Fiona sighed deeply, wishing she had realized her love for the woman all those years ago instead of allowing it to be twisted into jealousy and suspicion based on Spalding's treachery.

Sinking below the water, dangerously close to pulling her head under, Fiona closed her eyes to keep the tears back. She was done crying for today, she decided. "Oh, Myrtle," she whispered the name like a reverent prayer, dropping her head back against the tub. Her chest felt hollow and yet it still pained her to breathe. Fiona wrapped her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly as she marinated in the bath of guilt and sorrow.


	15. 2013 - part 4

_"You lift my heart up when the rest of me is down  
You, you enchant me, even when you're not around" _- 'Latch' by Disclosure

**2013 - part 4**

"Miss Fiona, I didn't think it was safe for you to be here yet? You're early," the soft lilting voice held a sense of surprise. "I'm afraid I'm not quite finished."

A lithe woman with a halo of curly blonde hair, woven feathers askew in the barely tamed tresses, approached Fiona who had slowed her pace as she paused in the garden that appeared as a mirage in the swampy trek. The woman's voice was soothing and held the telling accent of a born and raised Louisiana girl, who had been cast out of her family's nest because of her gift that was assumed to be of satanic nature. Misty Day couldn't contain her bursting happiness that someone was here to visit with her. No matter how long their stay, she appreciated the company. Quiet harmonious rock music floated from within the confines of her quaint cabin.

Unlike her counterpart who held the appearance of belonging to these mysterious swamp waters, Fiona was very much out of place. Black leather heeled boots were sinking into the mucky ground, and she struggled to maintain her balance with as much grace as she could muster while holding a black shawl over her shoulders. Her eyes were hidden by bug eyed designer sunglasses, and a wide brim black hat hid most of her golden locks.

"It's safe now. I want to see her." Fiona's chin tilted upward, an attempt to display that she would be calling the shots even in Misty's domain.

Misty stepped through the mud with ease, her coral hued shawl hung from the crooks of her elbows as she reached to take Fiona's hand. "Alright, come on inside."

Allowing Misty to guide her into the ramshackle hut she called home, Fiona kept her outward display of hesitation and offense to a minimum. She knew better than to disturb this fragile relationship with the witch that held superior resurgence powers. With her own abilities weakening with each day that passed, Fiona rued the fact that she needed to seek help from someone else, let alone a simple swamp witch. Misty was easy enough to work with, though. Her eagerness and innocence were usually traits Fiona associated with weakness, but now they held true purpose for her plans. It also bode well that Misty consistently addressed her as "Miss" Fiona which earned her a rightful place as an ally in Fiona's book.

Misty gestured to her bed against the back of the one room cabin for Fiona to sit. "Here, I'll leave Stevie on for you. Thank you again for getting me another player. I feel so...lost without her," Misty spoke softly as if she were trying to string a song out of her words. Waving her hands wistfully, she turned back to the entryway. "Go ahead and have a seat, Miss Fiona, I'll be back in a moment." The young woman smiled warmly and then left Fiona standing near the bed.

With a sigh dredged from the depths of her stomach, Fiona tugged the overly large sunglasses from her face. The hat followed and both were tossed to the bed before Fiona sat on its edge. There were no other proper furniture pieces, not that she cared as much for such things lately. The last several weeks she had resigned herself to her room, falling into short lived restless bouts of sleep. She was often amazed that she had not fallen asleep with a lit cigarette in hand, although she had considered the irony of accidentally setting her own room on fire. No, usually it was a glass of barely touched bourbon that soaked her clothing or the bed sheets after choking back several sleeping pills. In between the self pity and dreamless naps, Fiona would wander to Cordelia's room to try and grasp onto the frayed tapestry of their relationship. Fiona recalled Myrtle's words and clung to them like a mantra, hoping Cordelia would eventually overcome her hatred and accept the fact that Fiona was _trying _her damned best.

"Delia, honey, here let me help you." Fiona held the glass of water to Cordelia's seeking hands. Met with little more than a glare, she sat beside her daughter at the foot of her bed.

"It would be even greater help if you had found who really did this to me instead of killing Auntie Myrtle," Cordelia spat the words with disgust. "Really, mother?" She said the latter word with disdain.

"Delia, there's more to this that I can't share with you just yet," Fiona replied with an even tone. Overcome with the need to help her daughter dress earlier, Fiona momentarily forgot the gift of sight Cordelia received by being blinded by acid, and exposed the event of Myrtle's burning at the stake.

While the interactions had been mostly difficult with Cordelia, Fiona forged ahead with her attempts to salvage some sense of familial feelings with her only child. The bitterness seemed to fade with each day as Cordelia realized she did truly need her mother in some capacity. The lingering smell of bourbon worried Cordelia but as long as her mother was being cordial, she would take what she could get. Truthfully, she did feel a rush of guilt thinking of her mother going for chemotherapy on her own and then having to summon the energy to try and help her blinded daughter, but Cordelia found that grudges were sometimes sticky with their hold on the soul.

As the enchanting voice of Stevie Nicks wafted through the cabin, Fiona began to fidget with uncharacteristic nervousness. Her hands twisted together in her lap, pulling at the smooth fabric of the shawl that swept low across her back and around her waist, having slipped from her shoulders. It seemed to be taking Misty quite some time to get back and Fiona worried if it were perhaps a stalling tactic. Maybe the gullible girl didn't have a lick of power left in her and merely wanted to obtain whatever trinkets Fiona would bribe her with. The paranoid thoughts swirled through Fiona's mind as she tried to focus. She needed a distraction before it consumed her.

Reaching into the small pocketbook she brought with her, Fiona pulled out a small pouch. She dumped the contents into her palm; a pair of cat-eyed frame glasses that she had taken from Myrtle in the dank interior of that awful hotel, the last place she had felt Myrtle's lips upon her own. The last place she had held her close in her arms, close enough to feel her heart pulsing beneath her chest. Using the ends of the shawl to delicately wipe the lenses, Fiona then held them by the arms so as not to smudge her handiwork.

Fiona felt a sudden anxiety, unsure of what she was even going to say once Misty returned. What does one say to someone that has been sentenced in part to burn at the stake by their former lover? An apology seemed fitting, but after that, Fiona was uncertain that any words would appropriately convey how she felt. Harsh chemicals had rendered her penchant for words rather useless over the last few weeks and now she'd soon be faced with a situation where they were needed most.

Misty appeared in the doorway with a pleased smile on her lips, one that lit her face like an angel as sunlight illuminated her frame. "It worked, Miss Fiona. Here, see for yourself."

Fiona rose to her feet before the words left Misty's mouth and she slowly approached the doorway with a lopsided nervous smile. Her shawl trickled off her body and fell to the mud splattered floor, but she didn't seem to notice.

Misty had turned to face the outside of the cabin, patiently guiding a figure over the threshold. Her hands grasped the figure's forearm. "C'mon now, almost there," she murmured with excitement.

Fiona let out a gasp, both hands covering her mouth. A quiet sound emanated from her and she took a few more steps closer to Misty and the figure that had one of Misty's shawls over her head to block her visage.

"She shouldn't be in direct sunlight for a few more days, but she's alright." Misty's smile widened for a moment and she released the figure as she came to a stop in the cabin. She pulled the shawl down to rest on the slender shoulders of the woman with wildly arranged red hair that had been dirtied with mud and other natural salves. The figure trembled slightly, eyes blinking as they adjusted to the light level adjustment. Her skin was scarred but still the unmistakable pallor remained that belonged to Myrtle Snow.

With watery eyes that she would deny ever occurred, Fiona closed the remaining distance and enclosed Myrtle in her arms tightly, wrapping them around the woman's shoulders. "Oh, Myr, I'm so glad you came back...so glad," Fiona whispered against her cheek before pressing her lips to the very same spot. Sensing no reaction from the woman, she took a half step back, hands clasping her shoulders as she flicked her gaze over Myrtle. "Myrtle?"

The trembling subsided, but Myrtle still blinked several times. It was with confusion, though. "I'm sorry." Her dry voice cracked and she paused to cough before continuing in a barely audible raspy voice. "Who...are you?"


	16. 2013 - part 5

**A/N: Thank you all very much for your kind reviews and for reading my very first AHS story! You're all wonderful! :) A special thank you to LadyNobleSong for being a pioneer with the first Myrona fic on here. ;) Mwuah! Now for the final fluffy chapter, because who doesn't like a fluffy ending?  
**

* * *

_"If there are boundaries, I will try to knock them down_  
_ I'm latching on, babe, now I know what I have found_

_I feel we're close enough_  
_I wanna lock in your love_

_Now I got you in my space_  
_I won't let go of you (never)"_ -'Latch' by Disclosure

**2013 - part 5**

_"Who...are you?"_

The question hung in the air thickly, suffocating Fiona as she stared at the woman who regarded her without a single trace of emotion in her expression.

Unprepared to consider such a question, let alone the possibility that Myrtle would not be restored to her former self, Fiona's face collapsed from a smile to an open mouthed gasp of incredulity. Brow furrowing in a mix of pain, and sorrowful confusion, her arms that were absent of feeling slowly withdrew from Myrtle's shoulders and hung limp at her sides. It was if the very knife that stood as proud as a monument in Spalding's oozing chest quite some time ago had been planted in the same spot of her own chest. Taking a few deep breaths, she locked her eyes with Myrtle's, searching for some semblance of recognition. Dark eyes raked over Myrtle's appearance without an ounce of the typical aversion she would have had for such a horrid appearance.

Fiona whipped her head to the side to address Misty in a voice littered with boiling anger. "You," she growled. "You said you could help!" She took a menacing step toward the younger woman, her arm regaining the ability to move as she thrust the eyeglasses at Misty's chest. "You stupid simple minded swamp witch! You said this would _work, damn you_!" Each word increased in volume, and Fiona's hand began to tremble.

Taken aback by the rage directed at her, Misty shifted her doe-eyed gaze between the two women, hands entangling in her shawl as she pulled it snug around her waist. "I...I'm sorry, Miss Fiona. I brought her back to this world. I did what you asked..." Her voice quieted, trailing off as she lifted her hands to pull the edges of her shawl to cover her mouth. Misty took a slight step backward in obvious fear of Fiona's advancement.

A muddied hand came to rest on Fiona's wrist, fingers encircling their target weakly. "Fiona," the harsh voice was garbled.

Chest heaving, and eyes beginning to water with the threat of oncoming tears, Fiona let her attention stray from Misty to look at Myrtle, or at least the body that harnessed the soul of the Myrtle she had known. "What?" she snapped with irritation.

Saying nothing at all was often the strongest attribute of any relationship, and it was often said that a picture was worth a thousand words, and likewise a facial expression held the same caliber between two people. Myrtle's lips began to quiver faintly and then began to twist upward in a half-smirk, her exhausted eyes seemed to lighten with mischief as she gazed at Fiona. She tilted her head to the side, eyes never drifting from Fiona's bewildered visage.

Confusion clouded Fiona's face, halting the tears that had been welling up in her eyes from when she had shouted at Misty. Realization crept into her jumbled thoughts, and she let out a gasp. "You bitch. You horrible, mean, old bitch..." Tone softening with each insult, Fiona hinged the arm of the eyeglasses onto the collar of her dress and stepped toward Myrtle. She lifted a hand as if to slap her, but jerked it back abruptly as if rethinking the action. Both of Fiona's hands quickly ensnared anxious fingertips into the muddied red hair, pulling Myrtle's head close so she could fasten their lips together with force. Ignoring the taste of the mossy swamp environment on her mouth, Fiona urged the kiss further by swiping her tongue over Myrtle's chapped lips. Never had anything tasted as fresh or real as it did now. Her hands clung to the back of Myrtle's head, anchoring the woman in place as they shared a deeply rooted kiss that stretched on for several long seconds.

Still nearby, Misty had lowered her hands from shielding her face. She averted her eyes from the women for a few seconds, a shy smile gracing her angelic features. With Stevie's emotion-invoking voice in the background and such an outward display of powerful feelings, Misty found herself experiencing the longing she had fought with day after day; for someone who would share her life with her, but she was lucky if she so much as had a visitor. Moving past them, Misty gave another smile in their direction before walking to the side of her cabin to tidy up some of her belongings. It was an odd feeling, intrusion in one's own home, but she would rather have that than the earlier display of fury from Fiona.

Pulling her lips away just enough to whisper, but keeping her fingertips twisted in Myrtle's sodden hair, Fiona shook her head. "I hate you for doing that to me," she scoffed.

Myrtle's raspy voice was still far from healed, but she whispered anyway. "I hate you; that's my line." She smirked, and then seemed to concentrate to lift her arms and place her hands on Fiona's waist, fingers flexing against the soft curves as if testing their range of motion.

"Oh, I know you do." Fiona grinned as tears spilled over her high cheekbones, and she pushed her head forward to Myrtle for another tender kiss, placing her lips intermittently against the sides of Myrtle's mouth and then finally directly on her lips for a moment. "Come home with me, Myr. It's safe now." With a somber smile, Fiona touched her forehead to Myrtle's. "I'll tell you everything when we get home."

Intent on protecting her vocal cords while they healed, Myrtle shared a similar smile and nodded her head once. Hands caked with a muddy paste sought Fiona's hands, entwining their fingers together.

Breaking out of a dreamlike state, Misty started with a little hop. "Oh! Miss Fiona, your things!" Misty strode to her bed to retrieve the pocketbook, sunglasses, and hat, and then crossed the cabin to offer them to Fiona.

"I suppose these are best suited for her," Fiona drawled, remembering Misty's warning to keep Myrtle out of the unforgiving sunlight. She released Myrtle's hands and took the over-sized hat to place it gingerly on the woman's head, followed by the sunglasses that effectively shielded the majority of her face. Fiona looked to Misty with a slight smile, and tucked her purse under her arm. "Thank you for everything."

Misty nodded a few times with enthusiasm. "It was my pleasure, and please don't hesitate to return if you need anything or know of anyone who could use my help." She placed a hand on Fiona's elbow. "You can bathe her, but only natural soap...and remember, no sun for a few days." Misty gazed at Myrtle with a sadness of losing a companion, and brushed her fingers on the woman's scarred cheek. "Aloe vera for the next few days, too...y'know, from the plant?"

"Yes, I'm quite familiar. My daughter is bound to have such a thing in her greenhouse." Said with a hint of pride and not distaste or disappointment, Fiona hooked her arm around Myrtle's waist to help guide her through the doorway.

"I didn't realize you had a daughter, Miss Fiona. Is she like us?" Misty followed the two women, hands lifted protectively toward Myrtle in the event she became unbalanced. Glancing to Fiona with hopeful innocence, and unsure if she truly understood the double meaning of her question, Misty escorted them through the garden.

"Yes, for the most part. Although I do wish she would be a little more...assertive." Fiona let out a sigh as they trudged through the mud with Myrtle taking careful steps. "She's such a beautiful girl, my Delia. About your age, actually." Another sigh passed through her lips. "She's had a horrid accident...blinded by someone. Perhaps you could help restore her sight?" With an optimistic smile directed toward Misty, Fiona paused for the girl's response.

"Oh, Miss Fiona, I'd love to help!" Beaming with excitement, Misty reached out to touch Fiona's upper arm. "You just bring her to me an' I'll do what I can."

* * *

Within a week, Myrtle's skin had been completely restored to it's original complexion, even more youthful in appearance than before much to Fiona's guarded irritation. Even Myrtle's hair had maintained it's wild and wavy nature, explosive orange cascading to her shoulders. For several days, Fiona would slather Aloe vera on the woman's body to soothe the scars and encourage rejuvenation, but incrementally her own health began to fade in part due to the fatigue of caring for both Myrtle and Cordelia while suffering the residual effects of chemotherapy.

There had been little conversation over those few days as Myrtle regained her strength, but Fiona reassured the woman they had all the time in the world to talk once her vocal cords were healed. Myrtle never objected, and instead relished in the soft soothing touch of Fiona's fingers on her skin frequently matched by the caress of her lips on her own.

Gradually, they switched responsibilities, with Fiona taking up residence in her pillow-top bed while Myrtle dutifully tended to Fiona by fetching glasses of water and whatever snacks Fiona could stomach. Myrtle reassured Fiona that Cordelia would understand her mother's condition, and that she would help look after her "little bird" as she so affectionately referred to her.

Fiona reminded Myrtle on a daily basis that she needed to enlist Misty's help again, this time to restore Cordelia's sight, but Myrtle would simply smile and instruct her not to fret. Once she had heard of Spalding's violation as a watcher of the coven, Myrtle formulated a plan of her own, unbeknownst to Fiona. She never would have thought Spalding would be capable of such hatred and cunning betrayal, and knowing that he had posthumously confessed to his wrongdoing in the scrawled letter Fiona kept in her dresser, made her feel relieved to say the least. However, there were others involved in her unwarranted sentencing, and she intended to take appropriate payment from them.

"What's that look for?" Propped up against several pillows with a slim laptop propped on her lap, Fiona craned her neck to look at Myrtle as she entered her bedroom. Coughing with strained effort, she tried to push herself up a bit by pushing her palms into the mattress near her hips.

"Hm, what look?" Myrtle held something behind her back, purposefully trying to obscure it from Fiona's view. A wistful smile lit her face as she set the object on the bed next to Fiona before entering the closet to change out of her decidedly very 1950's era housewife-esque white dress.

Fiona's digits spun the object so she could see what it was, and she let out an audible groan. "_Titanic_? Really, Myr? Another fucking sappy ass love story? Can't we watch a horror movie or something? Christ." Shifting on the bed to make room for Myrtle, she reluctantly removed the disc from its case to insert it in the laptop's disk drive. "What were you all dressed up for anyway?"

"Oh, nothing. Just a rather tiresome lunch with a few colleagues who didn't have much to say to keep me very interested in their company for long." Myrtle's voice was muffled from within the confines of the closet as she changed, but Fiona thought she detected a hint of giddiness in the woman's voice. "No matter, though. I saved the Key Lime pie for dessert after the movie." Emerging from the closet clad in a violet ankle-length silk nightgown, Myrtle flashed a rather pleased smile to Fiona as she moved to the bed to take up her spot next to Fiona. Settling in, she pulled the down feather comforter up to their waists as Fiona held the laptop steady. Myrtle sidled up close to Fiona's side, wrapping her right arm around the woman's shoulders to nudge her closer.

With a sigh of mock annoyance, Fiona started the movie, curling up against Myrtle's warm body. "I can't believe I always let you pick the movie. You should feel sorry for me and let _me_ pick for once. Thanks for at least picking one that's not in French with subtitles this time around."

Smoothing her palm over Fiona's golden tresses, she planted a lengthy kiss to the top of the woman's head and chuckled. "Oh darling, stop fussing. I know you secretly enjoy them so." She stroked her fingers through the thinning strands carefully so as not to pluck them from her scalp prematurely.

Fiona let out a quiet "hmph" and nestled her cheek on Myrtle's chest, her left arm stretching across the woman's lap to latch onto her fingers.

"You're different, Fiona. From the last time we were together." Not one to sugarcoat or skirt around an issue that plagued her, Myrtle stared at the glow of the laptop, not focusing on the last of the previews.

"Things change. People change," Fiona stated quietly. She tilted her head to lift her eyes to Myrtle's face. "I've changed, Myrtle. I want to be here for my Delia. For this coven. The way I'm supposed to be, and how I should have been all these years." Pausing to draw in a breath, tiredness was evident in her voice. "I want to be here...with you. I've always needed you with me. I was just too bullheaded to realize that." Her cheek dropped back onto Myrtle's chest, and Fiona squeezed her fingers in her grasp. She tugged Myrtle's hand upward so she could brush a kiss on her knuckles.

"Not all of you has changed. You're still a bitch sometimes." The comment was stated with a teasing smile, and Myrtle nuzzled her cheek on the top of Fiona's head.

"Don't start with me, Myrtle. I will put _The_ _Exorcism_ on in a heartbeat." Her snide remark was belied with a chuckle, and she sank closer to the redhead as they watched in comfortable silence.

Toward the end of the movie during a particular heart wrenching scene where the main male character releases his lover's hands to slip to an icy death in the frigid waters of the North Atlantic Ocean, Myrtle used the back of her hand that still cupped the side of Fiona's head to wipe away a few tears. Usually she kept a handkerchief nearby, but had plain forgot in her haste to return back to the bedroom after hosting a short lunch. Myrtle tried to bite back a smirk when she felt the slightest shudder from Fiona and the unmistakable sensation of wetness soaking through the material of her nightgown where the woman's head rested. "I always knew you were a sucker for these kind of movies. There's some parts of you that you'll never be able to change, Fiona." Myrtle patted her head gently, and then inched her hand lower to brush the tears from Fiona's cheeks with her fingertips. "But I rather prefer you that way, darling."

"May as well enjoy what you can while I'm still here," Fiona whispered, and turned her head to lay a kiss on Myrtle's collarbone. "Y'know, you were wrong."

Myrtle's eyebrows lifted, and her gaze temporarily abandoned the movie to focus on Fiona. "Oh?"

"You said I wouldn't get my way at the end of all of this...insanity. And yet, here you are. With me." Fiona's voice was quiet and sincere, void of any sarcasm or gloating.

Providing the response of a sad smile, Myrtle tightened her hold on Fiona's shoulders. "Yes, here I am. I'm not going anywhere, Fiona."


End file.
